Summer's Last Exhale

It was only a week ago that Summer said goodbye. Labor Day marked its exit. Everywhere I turned there were white cotton pants, that last week of summer. Capris, bootcut and loose fit. (As if the "No White after Labor Day" rule applies to the season-less south Florida.) We have to distinguish the turn of the months by abiding by fashion rules and buying fake autumn leaves from the craft stores.

The leisurely days turn into a final sprint into Winter. Enter the busy months of school, work and back-to-back holidays.

The days suddenly shorten.

September skies show the prettiest shade of blue. Sometimes a clear cyan. Sometimes robin's egg blue backing the cottony-grey-lemon clouds at sunset. My favorite.

And all these 'September' songs come to mind. Do they yours? Like this one from the simply set musical, The Fantasticks.

Try to remember the kind of September
When life was slow and oh, so mellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When grass was green and grain was yellow.
Try to remember the kind of September
When you were a tender and callow fellow.
Try to remember, and if you remember,
Then follow.

Follow, follow, follow, follow, follow,

Follow, follow, follow, follow.

Try to remember when life was so tender

That no one wept except the willow.

Try to remember when life was so tender

That dreams were kept beside your pillow.

Try to remember when life was so tender

That love was an ember about to billow.

Try to remember, and if you remember,

Then follow.

Follow, follow, follow.........

Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Although you know the snow will follow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
Without a hurt the heart is hollow.
Deep in December, it's nice to remember,
The fire of September that made us mellow.
Deep in December, our hearts should remember
And follow. - Lyrics by Tom Jones

It will come that quickly - December will. We worry about Christmas from now till then. Moms do. So much to do as the year accelerates to its close.

Leaving the long, slow days of summer far, far behind.

It's only been a week since Summer said farewell, breathed out its last exhale.