Well, this little leaf tells the whole story of the first weeks of September, doesn't it? Perched halfway between searing summer and crisp fall. The beaches are closing, but the schools are opening. Peaches and plums are on their way out, but the apple trees are growing heavy with fruit. September is the Middleman.
I love September, and I love this poem to celebrate the month:
"September" by John Updike
The breezes taste
of apple peel.
The air is full
of smells to feel--
Ripe fruit, old footballs,
burning brush,
new books, erasers,
chalk, and such.
The bee, his hive,
well-honeyed hum,
and Mother cuts
chrysanthemums.
Like plates washed clean
with suds, the days
are polished with
a morning haze.
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