September is upon us now and the Summer season comes to a close. The dark hours increase and air becomes crisp and clear. This is a time, after a day of raking leaves or biking in the woods, to grab a book and curl up with a hot beverage and travel to another time and place. I prefer the classics, they remind me of a simplier time and some, like Dickens, even help to put me in the holiday spirit as well. So to start off the season here is a poem by Emily Dickenson.
If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.
If certain, when this life was out,
That yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
And taste eternity.
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.
by Emily Dickinson
(1830-1886)