The end of August is always bittersweet. I’m sad to see the last of the vibrant summer season, but at the same time I’m delighted to see September again.
September: The clouds take on a deeper texture and colour scheme. Silver rivulets and subtle purple, ripples crossed with shafts of sunlight. The days grow cooler, but it is balanced by the warm wind; a rich wind that still carries the taste of fruit. And fruit there is in abundance.
Pendants of grapes hang from the vines, with more hidden behind the mass of leaves. My apple tree is dripping with a bumper crop. I pick two, one for work and one for now. I might even be able to find the purple plums before the crows do.
September: the time for transitions, for in-betweens. All summer I watch the green apples, waiting for them to ripen. September fulfills that promise. But at the same time the leaves are changing colour and fluttering to the ground, making a new promise- the coming winter.
I catch the tail end of summer to make my holidays. It may be somewhat colder now, but I will still take the kayak out to the river and paddle by the light of the harvest moon. There is something bright and mystical in the day’s end, at the season’s end.
All this lasts for a moment, and no longer.
September: summer’s sunset, a blaze of gold against blue, and then it fades. Gone, until next year.