September

lige

№: 11

251.2020

'm in September. And it almost feels like a transition with an end of the longest summer in my mind. The days are now here and there marked by rain, the shrinking daylight, and later the deadening of leaves. This September my mother turns sixty. The more I remember that, the more I try to remember when she turned 50 or 45 and the kinds of things that happened in between those years and think that I would want to white out some parts and keep others. But again, it's September and how can I not let this month pass by yet is stands between me and the rest of the year; between me and thinking of the uncertainty what's to come. But even more so than ever, each day that is not closely watched can turn into a week and month passing by and forgotten and so I want to note that I am here now, in September, watching the birds make their enclaves outside my window the heat claiming more of the morning and the people stepping into their forays. Oh, but how can I grab on to this month and not let it slip?

I begin a schedule – early mornings and perhaps I won't spend too much time thinking about regressing into lax streaks. I'm trying to bring our conversations down to earth with a friend because they risk being over there and not in the moment and wonder how to do this without being too introspective. I am reading, and writing, listening, learning to get across what I mean to say. Tomorrow I will run. Though there's still today that just only began. Only just reared its head and let's deal with this day first.