Another Early Autumn

I felt it the other day, that subtle shift as summer slides into September.

Early Autumn! Not as early here as farther north.

But I’m energized by the new slant of light, by cooler mornings and longer evenings, glad of the end to long, hot summer days.

I mentioned it to a friend.

“Oh, no,” she assured me. “Not until October.”

I didn’t argue. Not verbally, anyway. But I’ve always been puzzled by the lag between when I feel the shift and the official change-of-season dates. A few years back, I adopted the medieval calendar, marking the summer solstice as midsummer, the beginning of fall sometime in August, and the onset of winter in November. Nothing really changed except my attitude. Imagining December as the dead of winter just made sense to me.

So yesterday I jogged happily in a misty morning, as though finally able to breathe.

Today, my birthday, I hiked with a friend to an overlook, the view still hazy from morning fog. It reminded me of the first day of school when I’m eager for the lessons to come my way – lessons not yet defined.

A perfect start to my next loop around the sun.