This is my first September on the hilltop, and I'm watching everything. Birds, clouds, leaves, the moon. The days are hot and humid, but evening arrives with crisp edges, sometimes with fog. The atmospheric change is abrupt, as if I have stepped down into a cool, damp cellar.
As we move toward the equinox (September 22), I'm ready to pack summer away for another year. My thoughts turn away from iced lemonade and key lime pie, and suddenly I'm craving apple bread and hot, orange-spiced tea. Soon it will be time to set out pumpkins and cornstalks. I'm waiting for cooler weather. Just being practical (I hate cleaning up pumpkins after they go soft and mushy). But I prefer to nest in stages and layers.
I haven't bought grocery store flowers in a while. The garden keeps giving and giving. To be sure, I'm planting lantana and marigolds next spring. They thrived in the blistering heat, even when I was away and couldn't water them.
Leaves blow onto the porch, and I don't dare sweep them away. They show me that everything is changing, that the earth is shifting, bringing us closer to winter.
Now is the time to play outside and drink in simple pleasures.
The days are shorter, but they feel wider somehow.
When I stopped by an antique shop, I saw a Halloween lantern pillow that said, "I'd rather be a pumpkin head than a pumpkin pie."
Really, that sums up everything.