The by now traditional I love September post…

September.

The cusp of newness. Rhythms that have been built into me from school, university and student worker days, now embedded in our marriage as teaching terms define our years. 

September. 

The end of summer. The start of my favourite time of year. New stationary. Fitting back into routines. Forming new ones. The turn of the earth. The dying summer sun’s last heat and the colder evenings. The launch into autumn. Misty mornings. Crisp blue skies. Rainy Sunday afternoons. Winter dark and the bursting light of Christmas. 

September 

Feeling the affects of change. The holiday that didn’t feel like a holiday but yet we stand this week tired but refreshed. Tired in body but not in mind. Sorting and clearing our house in preparation for redeeming work in the kitchen and living room. Clearing space in our mind. Making it easier to channel hospitality. 

September. 

The hope and enjoyment of new things. A new role at work. A new nursery. A new church. A new rhythm. New time with the youngest. New adventures for the eldest. New clothes. New bike for the Husbandface. New things, not to be feared but embraced. 

September. 

The marker in the sand of having survived this far in a strange and disjointed year. The surprise of standing together arm in arm, delighted that we are still finding joy in one another. The gladness of having come through the mire and finding that our eyes still seek each other out in wonder. 

September. 

Saturday evening. Husbandface cooks amazing food. I sit with small children and watch them drift into sleep. Wine sits on the table and the rain falls steadily outside. 

September. 

Hope. 

At last. 

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