Well, the sun's not so hot in the sky today
And you know I can see summertime slipping on away
A few more geese are gone, a few more leaves turning red
But the grass is as soft as a feather in a featherbed
So I'll be king and you'll be queen
Our kingdom's gonna be this little patch of green
Won't you lie down with me now, September grass
Oh, the memory is like the sweetest pain
Yeah, I kissed the girl at a football game
I can still smell the sweat and the grass stains
We walked home together, I was never the same
But that was a long time ago, and where is she now? I don't know
Won't you lie down here right now in this September grass?
Won't you lie down with me now, September grass
Oh, September grass is the sweetest kind
It goes down easy, like apple wine
Hope you don't mind if I pour you some
Made that much sweeter by the winter to come
Do you see those ants dancing on a blade of grass?
Do you know what I know? That's you and me, baby
We're so small and the world's so vast
We found each other down in the grass
Won't you lie here right now in this September grass?
Won't you lie down with me now, September grass
Lie down, lie down, lie down, lie down
~ James Taylor
Despite James Taylor's invitation, I will not be lying down in September grass. Hay fever, remember? Nonetheless, it's a very sweet song. It's part of 2002's October Road.
I spent part of this afternoon outside doing things I should have done in May or June. Yep. Just a little behind here. Although the weeding and landscaping seemed kind of anticlimactic (never mind, a waste of time), I found myself buoyed by the fact that I was getting things done! There's a thing here in the Northeast . . . you must prepare for winter. That's what autumn is for. After pouring ammonia under the sheds (to keep the groundhogs away) and then filling in the excavations they'd enacted months ago, I turned my attention to garden crops that were spent. Gone was the moth-eaten kale, the broccoli and cauliflower that refused to come to fruition, and the squash plants that had become victim to some kind of underground borer. Snow peas? Done and uprooted. Cucumbers? Ditto. I harvested peppers and green beans and edamame and tomatoes. There's not much left out there, and I am eager to put it all to bed, be done with it. It's time. It's September.
I have tried very hard to be mindful. I want to enjoy September, not see it as an end to something. But I think I have to shut down summer in order to do so. And that (as you know if you live in the Northeast) is hard to do. Long pants, socks, sweaters, blankets, early morning heat to take the chill off. Apple cider instead of iced tea. Soup instead of salad. The days get shorter, the nights longer. Am I ready for this?
Oh, the memory is like the sweetest pain.
Beautiful. As always.
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