cellini's Diaryland Diary ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- My Own September Somehow I have the sense that it may be an early autumn. My own September will be filled with long drives on winding country roads through twirling red and yellow leaves and a hint of wood smoke in the cold morning air towards the end of the month. In my own September I will walk the two miles from downtown to the University. Posturing freshmen will wander in little knots, still unfamiliar to each other, unaware of the fact that they will know the people beside them for the rest of their lives. Some of them will drop out. Some will marry and divorce each other. One who kills himself. The older girls wear their sundresses into October, flaunting cleavage and holding plastic cups of cheap lager that they pretend to enjoy. Football games will be played and lost. In my own September I will go fishing on a Wednesday morning, driving past long columns of cars driven by commuters going the opposite direction. I will be alone on the lake, except for a few old men who sit near the parking lot with an Irish setter. I will sit on the bank and watch yellowed willow leaves spiral slowly down on the water where a confused fish snaps at one and spits it out. My own September will be cold at night. I will crack the window and put an extra quilt on the bed. The geese will come in low and slow in my own September. I will squint against the low, slanting sunlight and smell the scent of gun smoke as the bird thumps to the ground. I will eat goose sandwiches for lunch the next day on the steps of the University library. 2:02 p.m. - 2010-08-03 ----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- |
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