There’s something about September, something special in those precious final moments that desperately cling to the lure of summer’s dream. The last night-cap after an adventure filled night, the last bite of gooey dessert, one more tight hug goodbye, a stolen kiss in the moonlight, the smell of the sunset, that last glance over your shoulder as you leave the room sending sparks in your eyes. It’s a sense of longing, but having just one more second to enjoy the sense of serenity. Of fulfillment. Of peace.
There is a magical something about that late September feeling. That anticipation of change, yet the reluctance to let go of summer’s charm.
This change in balance is about losing the force of the summer sun but gaining the crisp of fall. It’s like the cracking of the delicate crème brulee, biting into a crisp wafer, snapping open that perfect apple. The last puff of summer’s flame is the satisfaction of breaking something perfectly layered, like crushing the layers in a buttery croissant, biting into a nutty baklava, breaking open a flaky turnover, crumbling a cookie, breaking a brittle.
These last few days are that particularly perfect standstill in the tug between the changing seasons. Only rarely do we have this troubled serenity, like that moment of twilight when the sun has subsided, but Mr. Moon is still missing.