The Goldening

 Have you ever had a chance to be around the northeast for the transition from summer to fall? In some ways I feel this is the first time I've truly experienced it.  Turns out it's quite beautiful.

For the entirety of my 14-year teaching career, the period from late August into early September (and if we're honest, usually well into October) was generally a blur. A new school year can be exciting and hopeful, yes, (This time I know I'll get it right! This year I'll finally crack this nut! I'm rested and ready, I'll do it ALL!) But it's also a brain-erasing, frantic, exhausting whirlwind. 

Without fail this time of year always flew right by me, obscured by a frenzied flurry of spreadsheets, emails, name tags, unit plans, classroom design and re-design, closet clean-outs, curriculum meetings.  By the time I came up for air the trees had lost most of their leaves and jack-o-lanterns were popping up on doorsteps and in vestibules.

This year the season feels quite different. Peaceful, in fact. The change feels slower, more subtle and incremental. There's a sense of coming home - the neighbors have returned from their shore houses and mountain getaways; the treetops no longer vibrate with the lush, verdant, saturated green of summer-in-full-swing. The leaves have muted their bawdy tones and are fading towards golden.  Now when you open the front door, instead of the wet smack of a sultry, humid blanket of an afternoon, you're greeted by gentle, tepid air that's lighter, and it moves. When the wind blows later in the evening it lets you imagine an ever-so-distant time when the air could actually make you feel cold.

Yesterday ended with a particularly temperate evening, and I was pleased to find myself in Gorgas Park in the gazebo on the hill, overlooking the wide field where dogs chase tennis balls off leash. I listened to the sounds of the neighborhood adjourning from the workday - kids shouting for each other as they chased each other on their scooters; a group of banjo players who has taken to plucking in the park on Tuesdays; the jingle of dogs on leashes out for their evening walks. Meanwhile the birds announced themselves in a sharp staccato as the wind rustled through the trees. The leaves are still mostly hanging on, but not for long.

Summer's over, but it's not quite gone. I felt content to be part of the park tableau of people celebrating a season-within-a-season that I never really knew before.