When September comes, I can't help but be philosophical. And I don't think I'm alone– for many children in this world, this time of year signifies a rite of passage– a reckoning of time changing and maturity.
And the suddenly cooler days and nights that are the harbinger of autumn– together with the ever-shortening days and the inescapable burden of sweaters and schedules– make life seem that much more serious and ephemeral. Summer is gone; the fun seems gone. Real life must once again begin.
Today I was driving Herr Meow back from yet another appointment (because who knew paperwork could just evanesce?) and listening to Phlash Phelps on Sirius.
Brief aside: I love morning deejays. Specifically, the oldies stations always seem to have the most fun, peppy, trivia-laden morning DJs and that appeals to my almost compulsive obsession with insignificant dates and bits of things no one else seems to remember.
Phlash Phelps broadcasts on Sirius/XM and he does the morning duties on '60s on 6. Within the show, he has a city of the day segment, and today's was Poland, Maine. Poland was, in fact, the city of the day because today 70 years ago World War II started when Germany invaded Poland.
"Oooh," went the little old lady from Maine, today's winner.
She guessed right, but she had no idea.
As we drove back home and crossed the Douglass bridge, I choked up a little.
The sky was the most perfect, painful, awe-striking shade of cerulean blue, and it seemed powdery and flawless and endless. I figured it was an atmospheric phenomenon– something having to do with the cooler temperatures making the sky appear more like a beautiful, enormous vacuum and less like a cyclorama above our heads.
This is the sky that made me think of the first of September. This sky is the one that saw the first glimmers of what would be a long, painful and scarring war; the same sky that was pierced by rogue planes in New York eight years ago ; the same sky that has seen so much death and destruction side by side with lovely milestones, and the same sky which hangs a full corn moon to help feed the Native American tribes.
This is the sky under which I was born.
Happy September, one and all.