Last breath of summer
I sit alongside an open window on my last full day spent on the Cape this summer. Fall is whispering in my ear that school will beginning this week, that it is time to lower the umbrellas, empty the fridge and wash every linen as we will soon be visiting like tourists on the weekends, but not the constant companion as we have been all summer long. Fall is my favorite of all seasons. Born in September, as was my most favorite person, my grandmother Mummzie, fall charms me with its colors, cooler temperatures and fashion choices. Last night I wore a sweater for the first time all summer. It is a rite of passage into fall which I welcome along with down comforters, and heavy cable-knit blankets.
This year, unlike any other I feel myself pushing fall away. Our daughter will be a junior in high school this year, and our son, newly graduated will be navigating adulthood. We inherited our home on the Cape a few years ago and just this year it began to feel like home. Tonight I striped the ceiling of one of the newly renovated bathrooms. The new privet plants stand at attention in the backyard along with the signature hydrangeas waiting to be planted so they may show off in the spring, and a new shell driveway will welcome guests with a cobblestone apron that no snow plow will ever visit. Slowly but surely, she will be home. I wish time could pause for a bit, for me to hear my daughter's recap of camp events again and for my son to enjoy his evening sunsets on our little beach. Tonight I am beyond thankful for being able to sit beside this window, recalling all the things I love.
This year, unlike any other I feel myself pushing fall away. Our daughter will be a junior in high school this year, and our son, newly graduated will be navigating adulthood. We inherited our home on the Cape a few years ago and just this year it began to feel like home. Tonight I striped the ceiling of one of the newly renovated bathrooms. The new privet plants stand at attention in the backyard along with the signature hydrangeas waiting to be planted so they may show off in the spring, and a new shell driveway will welcome guests with a cobblestone apron that no snow plow will ever visit. Slowly but surely, she will be home. I wish time could pause for a bit, for me to hear my daughter's recap of camp events again and for my son to enjoy his evening sunsets on our little beach. Tonight I am beyond thankful for being able to sit beside this window, recalling all the things I love.