September is more than a month, really; it is a season, an achievement in itself. It begins with August’s leftovers and itends with October’s preparations, but along the way it achieves special satisfactions. After summer’s heat and haste, the year consolidates itself. Deliberate September—in its own time and tempo—begins to sum up another summer.
With Septemberes a sense of autumn. It creeps in ona misty dawn and vanishes in the hot afternoon. It tiptoes through the treetops. rouging a few leaves, then rides a tuft of thistledown across the valley and away. It sits on a hill top and hoots like an October owl in the dusk. It plays tag with the wind. September is a changeling, busy as a squirrel i