"[T]hat old September feeling, left over from school days, of summer passing,
vacation nearly done, obligations gathering, books and football in the air ...
Another fall, another turned page: there was something of jubilee
in that annual autumnal beginning, as if last year's mistakes had been wiped clean by summer."
If there is one thing Illinois does right, it's Septembers. As a little girl, September meant only one thing: my birthday. But as time went on, it began to mean new pencils and notebooks, putting up tank tops and trading them for sweaters, and country fields being plowed over into dusty flatness once again.
We spent this evening walking a path that wound through a usually quiet park, made vibrant with jazz musicians and lumineers for a special jazz night there. And when my scarf, Millie's sweater, and the blanket in Sky's arms carrying a sleepy Walter weren't enough to keep us warm anymore, we turned back towards home before our teeth began chattering.
And during those hours, September tested the waters and slowly crept in, really and truly. It might sneak away again and not be back for a few more days, but we've had the first taste and can't wait for more. There are pumpkins to pick, boots to wear, and more chilly nights to brave together.