A September out of the norm. |
I recall one September, years ago; it was ninety five degrees fahrenheit on the twenty fifth, but it did not slow us in the least—instead, we had a bite then rushed to the beach as if July… the water warm as Erie goes, small waves to lap the shore and us wading knee-high, a part of what the summer-seeker craves. How could it be? We said on the way home, the ninth month here, and warm ambient air embracing us much like the shoreline foam does to the sand, that this month is so rare, so record-setting…full moon high, a rush of gladness to our hearts, a memory set sensual that almost made us blush. That month regarded us, all right, a glee of days turned into weeks preceding lake excursion, like time dressed in his Sunday best, like a man about town on the make! A sunny month, with each and every ray of solar giving lapped up by us peeps, at month’s end—memories of Labor Day still fresh within our minds, awareness keeps like Canfield Fair and cotton candy, rides to thrill a minute, horses' flowing mane; yet then another memory collides with one of other times, perhaps a bane like hurricane that crashed along the coast; (and I believe it happened on the first.) Yet all in all, September was to boast; we drank of it to slake our raging thirst. May it abide to always hold my heart. That September was different, right from the start. 34 Lines Writer’s Cramp 9-18-19 |