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My kids start school tomorrow and it’s been below 60 degrees here all day. It’s fall. We went out for one last ice cream run and it just tasted terrible. You know how ice cream sometimes is too sweet and creamy? And I’m an inveterate sweet tooth, so that’s saying something. That’s how it was tonight.

Backpacks are by the door and alarm clocks will be set much earlier than they have been for months. Two weeks ago I was mourning the end of summer with the ragged, raw emotion of a new loss. Today the sorrow is the feeling of loss upon reflection.

All summer as I walked the dogs in the morning, I looked around me and thought about how beautiful God made the world. This morning I kept my chin down, trying to keep the wind from sneaking down my hoodie.

But next weekend is my youngest son’s first football game. Some of the trees are starting to turn the flaming red that I so adore and today I was craving mulled wine and caramel apples.

How do some poets manage to say it so well?

“To everything turn turn turn

There is a season turn turn turn”

or, old school

“To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven:
A time to be born, and a time to die; a time to plant, a time to reap that which is planted”

Does that mean that my weeding my flowers today was like calling in the manicurist to the nursing home? If so, polish away, baby! Polish away!