On the First of September...

September sun, sun on September One. Summer’s over, psychologically at least, but the sun is still warm and bright, betraying just a hint of what’s to come when it descends the sky later and the temperature drops into the 50’s, jacket weather.

You remember Septembers’ past, when the changing of the season had a more innocent meaning, one less fraught with responsibility and the awareness of time rushing past, of life’s chronology growing deeper behind you.

You spent part of the weekend purging, pulling apart shelves and boxing books that’ll be sold for a dollar at a Goodwill store. Throwing away old birthday cards, but not before flipping through a few of them, same as the scattered photos you found. Snapshots of a time and a place, those times long since past. You cling to the memories, but just for a second because all they are now are memories, and you cannot cling to memories or the past or the road not taken, not for one minute more. You’ve made it to this point, the fits and starts of a life in motion, in constant motion really despite the many vain attempts you’ve made at finding a “pause” button. There is no pause, only play. So you play.

You read old journals, recognizing the author and wondering what that guy would think about this guy. Would he be proud of where you’ve come since then? Disappointed? Impressed in some ways, bewildered in others? And you think about her, wondering what she’s doing while you’re doing this, while you’re putting into action the steps you’ve long talked about taking. Is she taking steps too? Are we stepping toward one another, walking toward that sandy beach path lit by a fiery orange sunset, that happy ending where we stroll off together, hand in hand?

You look up and forward, seeing only the present and the future. All this, all this is over...the last vestiges of who you were reminding you of who you are and how you got here. It’s all different now.