I'm back in Seymour, but oh, my heart is in the forest. Yesterday morning, as Gary and I ate our breakfasts beside the open fire, I looked up at the green of the maple trees and noticed the beginnings of that orange tint that forecasts fall.
Gary and I have known each other for about 35 years and have been a couple for almost 30. As we grow older together, my love for him deepens and I think of how few years we have left. Autumn is the most joyful of the seasons for me, but it also makes me grow misty.
The night before, I took a walk down to the pier with our hostess, Anita Joy, and told her that the words to "September Song" (Anderson/Weill) keep going through my mind these days.
"Oh, it's a long, long while from May to December
But the days grow short when you reach September
When the autumn weather turns the leaves to flame
One hasn't got time for the waiting game.
"Oh, the days dwindle down to a precious few
September, November
And these few precious days I'll spend with you
These precious days I'll spend with you."
Sure enough, Anita, who lost her beloved Sully, knew what I meant and knew all the words, too. We sang them together as we walked through the beginning of autumn.
Schmaltz, I know, but I can't help myself.
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