Up here on the mountain, our growing cycle is always about a month behind the rest of the Hudson valley. The tomatoes are still green, the sunflowers are only waist-high and the raspberries are on the perfect verge of being overly ripe. In a way I feel like it's still August, or even July, because aren't tomatoes a July thing?
But every once in a while I see a swath of bright orange leaves decorating a distant tree, or I hear the plunk of an apple falling to the ground and it hits me that it truly is September. The bittersweet month.
Even though I'm supposed to be practicing non-attachment, I sure am attached to summer, because most of the things I love occur in summer: sunshine, warmth, songbirds, flowers, butterflies, green grass, thriving wildlife, trashy books, music festivals, etc etc.
But the good news is that everything that ends begins again and everything that begins ends and the one constant thing within us all is eternal and beautiful.