ROCKWALL, TX (Sept. 8, 2022) Odes to September are plentiful, the season our souls awaken, our hearts begin to warm. In September the mildness of the morning begins to linger longer, and I tend to linger longer over my coffee. Evenings, while not yet cool, allow more grace to be out in the garden, than during the previous months’ blasts. Shadows of the day grow longer.
September is a month of hopeful anticipation. We know the heat will end, eventually. In September, we are getting closer to being on the brink of autumn weather. We hope this year, for more rain. Red, orange and yellow autumn leaves are always longed for, a phenomenon we don’t enjoy each year here. We seem to begin to gather in, instinctively perhaps from early generations, who stored and shored up in earnest for winter, during September.
Flower gardens have matured and hold a banquet for our eyes, in the fall of our days. Major garden chores are over for the time being. Milder weather brings a new flush of blooming to savor. Summer’s freedom for the children, days and nights of ease, have come to a halt. Studies must be tackled once again.
The hummingbirds in my garden are more plentiful in number in this season. We’ll have hordes of them this month. They linger longer and, while the fight for dominance continues with fierce dive bombing of the others, we now see them numbering two, or even three or more on the nectar filled saucers scattered about the garden. Perhaps they are realizing the days of summer are waning, so they share and cooperate, allow sustenance to all for the migration. After spring and summer, they are accustomed to the giants who live here and hover closer and closer, becoming familiar and bold. I’m making a goal, to have one perch on my finger, now or next year.
Time to put away the jars of seashells and the beach towels, and gather in to home; bringing in gourds and pumpkins. Light cotton throws are laundered and folded away for next spring, warm colored, soft, comfy throws are tossed over the sofa. Fall wreaths are hung on doors, welcoming friends and family to gather in. If we concentrate and sit in the quiet, we can nearly see a fire burning golden in the fireplace. Put down the logs – not yet!
If summer is freedom, peaches and blueberries, fall is gathering, bringing in, pulling together. Caramel apples. Hot lattes outdoors on mild days. Football season begins and parents, families, friends gather in stadiums to cheer on their school’s team. Gathering together.
I would prefer not to mention two words that have seemingly become synonymous with the season of fall. Words describing flavors and scents that some find ever so enticing, now interchangeable with the season. But I must, I guess, make note of pumpkin spice. Candles, bath salts, popcorn, cookies, ice cream, coffee creamers, lattes, donuts, argh. The words that now seem to characterize everything fall. I cannot bear the pumpkin spice madness. I know…throw me down and stone me. Just don’t make me sniff or see pumpkin spice again. Ever. I am quite fond of pumpkin pie, with a nice glob of whipped cream on top. Pumpkin cake is a moist, spicy treat. The old pumpkin standards are dandy for me. Y’all go on and pumpkin spice it up. I’ll not begrudge slews of you to live it up when pumpkins spice lattes and coffee creamers hit the aisles of the grocery and coffee shop. I bequeath my allotment to my daughters-in-law. I’ll just think of apple harvests, cider, hot coffee from a thermos and a ride in the country.
Here, in Texas, September is not quite the big change in the seasons. More of a preamble to the change. The promise of change to come. We take the promise to heart and awaken each day hoping for autumn breezes, cappuccinos, and a cold front to bring crisp days in for the fair. Don’t put your sweaters on yet, we still have some very warm days to endure. Just lay one out over the bedroom chair, and gaze at it. Soon. Soon.
This afternoon, while filling my grocery cart with almond milk, orange and cranberry juices, I spotted an orange-colored bottle in the dairy section. Pumpkin Spice Whole Milk.
By Sally Kilgore of Rockwall. Sally is a former resident of Rowlett, and a recent transplant, across the lake, to Fate, Texas. She is married to her long time flame, Chris Kilgore. When not writing, gardening, filling in at the local flower shop or hanging out with grandkids, Sally devotes her time to serving Bob Kilgore, a generously sized, Tuxedo cat with panache.
Read more of her column, Kukka (Finnish for bloom or flower) at BlueRibbonNews.com. You can contact Sally at firstname.lastname@example.org or via her website: www.sallyakilgore.com.
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