The First of September
"The true beloveds of this world are, in their lover's eyes,
lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favorite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory."
Truman Capote
A wisp of a warm wind slips through an open window, mischievously lifts a page of the calendar that rests on the uncluttered desk. The page rises, flutters for a moment then falls. And just like that, it’s the first of September. September, the glorious month given the honor of holding open the door for the entrance of autumn, when clear, cloudless skies bequeath infinite possibilities and crisp, chilly nights bestow storybook memories. I fell in love in the autumn, planned my winter wedding in the autumn. And each year, every year, when September dawns once again, those magic feelings of first and forever love return, crystalline and true.
I fall in love all over again.
I fall in love all over again.
"The true beloveds of this world are, in their lover's eyes,
lilacs opening, ship lights, school bells, a landscape, remembered conversations, friends, a child's Sunday, lost voices, one's favorite suit, autumn and all seasons, memory, yes, it being the earth and water of existence, memory."
Truman Capote
