September doesn't usually mean much to me in the way of change. School starts in the middle of August. Usually, the heat and humidity will last until October. I don't care about the start of football season.
But this September seems to be bringing a freshness I didn't expect. After a summer of oppressive heat, waiting for the rain, waiting for the baby, waiting for my family's lives to take their respective upturns, September has come in cool and hopeful.
I suppose that sounds strange to most people. In most places, it is the long winter than freezes people's hearts and makes them wish for the spring thaw. Here, in SC, the summer is stultifying. By the middle of August, we wonder if we will ever breath again. Every year, I think about One Hundred Years of Solitude by Gabriel Garcia Marquez, in which they have a year of rain and everything and everyone is covered in algae or mildew. Even with a drought, that is what it is like in Columbia every summer. Sticky and mildewy and hot. Swimming pools are as warm as bathtubs. Ice melts in the freezer. The air conditioner runs full blast and barely gets the house to 90 degrees.
And then on August 31 the high was 89. I am always shocked by the difference between 89 and 98. I felt a breeze. There was no humidity, so "85" felt like "85". I walked around the yard and saw my poor neglected yard. I lay in the hammock and read. Believe me, it is much worse to neglect a hammock than a yard.
I feel renewed and ready for changes. I will plant the bushes in the butterfly garden after the heat and before the cold. Clean my house, paint Mark's room, sort the junk in the shed and have a yard sale. I can already feel the energy returning. Fall is here. At least for this weekend.