Today I said goodbye to September.
True, some days I said I wanted to sleep through this month. It hasn't treated me the way I would expect a favorite to—sometimes it almost felt like February. But one doesn't alway love a thing because of how nice it is, or because it earns it. Sometimes you love something simply because it exists, because it's a part of you. When I looked at the calendar and saw tomorrow, I realized that today holds so much of finality, of things needing to be put to rest.
So I took a drive. I chose a route I don't travel every day but that is still dimly familiar. It began as something of a stress reliever, with wind in my hair and the music turned up loud. Soon, however, I started to see things that pulled the full weight of farewell firmly into my thoughts.
I saw hints of deep colors, muted by the lateness of the season, and receded waters that spoke of more abundant times. I saw pockets of intense, unexpected storms, with painful jabs of lightening and blood-tinged clouds—like those days when the cold came suddenly and reached all the way to my heart, when the emptiness filled my bones without words and without touch, and I knew the coming winter would be the coldest I've weathered. Those storms fought for my attention, but they were surrounded by mild, comforting, everyday sky to draw my eyes away.
I followed winding roads, sometimes expecting the curves ahead and at times being surprise by how sharply they cut through the scenery. I recognized that shoreline, that peak, that wandering path. I glanced at that arbitrary roadside stall, and the significance of it took my breath away.
As the sun set on my scene, I wished for more. More light, more warmth, more of the colors I can now only illuminate with my imagination. Eventually I yielded, and said goodbye to something so beautiful—how achingly beautiful I can never convey, no matter how well you think you know these parts.
I am infinitely sad to see it go, but I hope there will be other Septembers...or, at the least, a few great Octobers.