In this month, many have come and gone and the impossible perpetually falls from the sky.

I can’t explain it. The suspended anticipation of an unneeded repeat for a lesson I learned long ago hits me every year.

I dread the calendar page falling from eight to nine.

It is me at my most irrational.

I don’t want September to wake me up when it ends. I hope for a month of silence and ceaseless nonsurprise.

Because the sun and shadows speed their dance in this month, I think of a moment when I looked at the seat next to me and saw an entire life wrapped and concealed in a binder. As I drove under the trees, those mercurial shadows danced for me, like one’s life flashing before your eyes. It warped me and I embraced it.

I see it floating in the blue sky, high above its owner. Perfect training and a foolish mistake combined to create an unwelcome greeting for me on the ground. It came to the ground as all things do.

It’s not personal.

It’s just September.

It forces me unwillingly to remember.

I don’t trust myself until it ends. The angry faces, the wasted time, and the seemingly stupid focus on mundane and trivial things.

Part of what I miss is the visceral nod to moving and acting as if it is all farce. In farce, nothing is ever lost and you can never waste a moment.

Everything is always lost and all moments are one. It’s that we can’t experience it from a wide enough angle to see the blur of it all.

For every answer, there’s a question.

For every frown, a smile.

I’ll look up a lot this month, as I always do.

In this month, many have come and gone and the impossible perpetually falls from the sky.

September is the calcium of my bones.

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