Today I got up with the alarm but couldn’t for the life of me remember why I had set it. The outside was dark and rainy. And what day is it anyway?
Monday. The last Monday of summer. Come Wednesday morning I’ll have to rouse my 6 1/2 (SIX AND HALF! I’M SIX AND HALF NOW!) year old and send him off on the big yellow bus to the first grade.
I could tell this morning that the weather knew. Summer is ending! Here comes the fall, with her colors and her rain! Her pumpkins, and her parties.
The fair is over, our chickens are enroute to new homes. Our fish tank is one more fish full. Hello Cutie.
The summer flew by and now I’m on the brink of sending off my guy to ALL DAY SCHOOL. “This is almost my last lunch with you” he said with a serious nod of his head, today at the table “and tomorrow will be my last”.
I have always loved the fall. The leaves, the rain, the wind that brings that crispness down the road. The apples, the blackberries, the rows of canned goods in the pantry, the squash still on the vine waiting to be made into soup, bread, pie.
And yet, this year I’m clinging to the last days, hours of this summer, before….before? Before they head off on their own journeys, which I’m happy and sad for. Quiet days stretch ahead when I will wonder why I ever complained about someone’s elbow in my ribcage, toes on my leg while I’m eating.
Quiet days when I’ll sit and remember what it was like to listen to two boys talk on their ‘foot phones’ to each other in the back of the un air conditioned car.
*Welcome-Phil Collins (Brother Bear) eh.