I can’t forget any of it.
It always started off nice and always ended
with some horrific circumstance.
I love September. I love the cooler weather,
having more energy, and feeling connected again to nature. I love trees, rocks,
and earth. They are beautiful any time of year but, after the oppressive heat
of summer, I feel a surge of connection again.
Now I dread it – while trying hard not to cause
a neurotic, self-fulfilling prophecy of doom.
September.
All sorts of words - none pleasant - come to
mind but, in fact, it's not September I reject. It's my feelings about the
memories...the memories.
And yet…
I love the cooler air, the changing trees, and
the newness of a different season. i have survived my Septembers and the
memories, though not always prettily.
All my life could be summed up in my
Septembers.
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