Making sense

Anne Lamott, on writing ...

"We are a species that needs and wants to understand who we are. Sheep lice do not seem to share this longing, which is one reason why they write so little. But we do. We have so much we want to say and figure out.”

Saturday, August 23, 2008

A hint of fall is in the air

Just got in from walking my beloved canine unit, Bella.
The air: crisp like a potato chip. No hint of humidity. Someone was grilling hot dogs. Children on bikes with training wheels rolled past me and Bella. One of them, a little girl, hopped off her bike to pet the dog. The tyke wore a jacket with a hood framing a kindergarten face. A hood. Yes!
All good signs that fall is coming.
Fall is my favorite season: A time of wienie roasts and pumpkin picking. A time to start the oven up again; a time to buy apples five pounds at a time. A time to bring out the cozy sweaters and pack away the sleeveless.
School here has already begun, and even though my first day of classes felt Very Much Summer, seeing the students wearing plaid skirts and striped polos advertised that tank tops and ratty shorts were being put away.
Another school year is here.
And that's how I measure the year. August to May.
Fresh beginnings.


Bee said...

It feels endless summer here in the south of France, but I'm sure that I will get that autumnal fever the minute I get back to England. September is a lovely month, it's true . . . November, not so much.

"Crisp like a potato chip" -- such a yummy way to describe the delicious dryness of a fresh day.

Kate said...

I'm amazed at your jet-setting ways, Bee. Jealous, too. I mean, I went to Nebraska, for crying out loud, over the summer!
What is France like? Do tell.
Parlez-vous Francais?
Enjoy your summer holiday.