Empty fairways at Webannet. Vacant tennis courts at the River Club. Hot, but not tropical, days. Cool, but not freezing, nights. Sunny chrysanthemums bursting out of clay pots on the front steps.
Tomato plants listing with ripe red Jersey Big Boys. Green bean foliage ravaged by Japanese beetles. Cukes and eggplants yielding one last harvest. Zucchinis and yellow squash positively exhausted.
“By all these lovely tokens, September days are here.
With summer’s best of weather, and autumn’s best of cheer.”
Poet Helen Hunt Jackson
Doing 10 loads of beach and bath towels after the kids leave. Discovering one tiny white athletic sock (Henry’s!) under the guest room bed. Watching my son — a husband and father of two — load the back of his Audi with golf clubs, duffles and lego bins before the drive back to New York.
Vacant lifeguard stands at Mother’s Beach. The KBIA swimming pool covered and tarped until next May. SALE signs pasted on shop windows in Dock Square. Tour buses gliding along Beach Avenue. Already?
My two visiting grandson’s bangs falling into their sparkling brown eyes. Big grins on Maddie and Max as they start fifth and ninth grade. “I’m on safety patrol!” “My science teacher is awesome. My English teacher? Not so much.”
Ideas for crockpot concoctions replace gazpacho and cucumber soup recipes. A new box of Hodgson Mill Old Fashioned Oat Bran stands on the shelf next to the Honey Nut brigade. Rump-sprung white slacks join a pile for the Goodwill. Soiled pink espadrilles get tossed in the garbage.
Hugging daughters and sons, grandkids and summer pals goodbye. “See you at Canadian Thanksgiving!” “Are you coming for Christmas Prelude?” “When will we see you next?”
“September tries its best to have us forget summer.”
Philosopher Bernard Williams