It was the end of another New England summer and there was the intoxicating energy of the season’s change in the air. It was in that small envelope of time just before the leaves start changing color. There’s freshness in the air and the breeze feels a little crisper as it blows through the long sleeve shirts you’ve just begun wearing again.
Maybe I just feel tied to September because it’s the month I was born. But no…I think there’s more to it. It’s the month of harvest, the time of plenty, and the entire northern hemisphere seems to be letting go of its final exhilarated breath before it launches itself headlong into the abyss of winter.
She was standing along the fence that bordered the bay, looking out over the inlet towards the naval yard across the waterway. The sun was setting and the sky was exploding in these beautiful extravagant tones of blue, and red, and purple that she said reminded her of the dresses Marie Antoinette must have worn – she didn’t see the Kirsten Dunst movie, incidentally. Standing there, all alone, I can’t fathom the glorious, scattered images that must have plowed through her mind as the ocean breeze seemed to glue that light cotton skirt to her legs.
