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Resolving Into September
where a kite is being lifted, sail by sail
After enduring the dissonance of my disbelief that summer is really, actually, and no-doubt-about-it ending, I make a point to listen carefully and observe closely, breathing in the sweet air composed of the grand transitions surrounding me. Every natural movement (the scurrying squirrels, the last stand and practice-flights of the swallows, the brittle sway of the crisping leaves) seems critical and urgent right now. But also: peaceful, and without resentment for what must come next. The good world is resolved to do what it needs to do.
September is one of my very favorite months, even though it means saying good-bye to so many things and people that I won’t see again for many months. And on the note of transformations,
a poem for my father...
Resolution The leaves are not quite ready, (I said) and he nodded, in his rhythmic, methodical way. Are you? (he asked) Of course not. The tide is out, so we dry our shampooed hair on the beach, careful not to step on the just-surrendered jellyfish, strewn like one-way lenses on the wet, gray sand. We're so far out that, looking up over the salted and eroding bluff, we can see the flat field where a kite is being lifted, sail by sail, into the mid-morning sky. Were you ready? (I asked) No, (he said) but the leaves are always ready. Never forget that. 09.03.23
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