Summer in New England is ever so fleeting. We finally had weather that was sunny and 80 degrees… but not until August. And now it is September and the air is drying and cooling already.
Carolyn and her baby girl came yesterday for a quick visit. It’s the first time she has been in the city with me in ages. The last time, actually, was when we drove down to pick Kyle up at the airport. That time that changed everything. When we went kayaking and I realized my dear friend’s laughter and knowing glances were directed at someone altogether different from me. When we drove to the beach in the middle of the night and I sat in the back seat while they held hands up front. When he told her he wanted to marry her and kissed her on the couch.
But all those times before that. Those late evening drives into the city, with excitement at the sight of the skyline and the good music we were about to enjoy. When we would get lost over and over again, because north isn’t North in Boston. When we would head home over the bridge, with the moon fading over the buildings and the sun rising over the harbor. And I would always have that subtle ache in me. As Care slept in the seat beside me. And I would think that we are growing up, these days won’t last too long. And I would ache with lonliness at the thought of going our separate ways.
The fall has always brought a sadness with it. It takes away the summer, but it also still signifies the seperating of ways to me. Leaving for school, leaving for somewhere else. Leaving friends and family, or having them leave me. It just always feels like I should be leaving, or be left.
And yet here I am in the midst of September. Not leaving anyone, nor being left. But rather making my way, rather quickly, toward an aisle row of trees in an apple orchard, where I will stand by a man and unite my life to him, committing to never leave one another.
I am good at a life of leaving, with countless moves throughout the years, it’s all I’ve ever known. Yet now things are shifting. I’m not drifting away like a leaf on the wind. My roots are entangling with the roots of another. And though our soil will change over the years, to Africa, the Middle East, Boston, and other wild places, we will remain entangled in one anothers lives. And we will grow and be made strong, and our fruit sweet.
Come, fall. A fall without leaving, but a fall full of changes nontheless.