Mellow Septembers

The apples, plucked from the tree and from the squirrels and rabbits, are in a dark room in the basement. We call that room "purgatory" because the items in there have served us well and in time we hope to pass them along to another life with another family. The apples will indeed become heavenly mouthfuls of apple crisps and pies this fall.
The have but one pumpkin on the vine which, in spite of being a potted plant, grew huge leaves that took up too much space on our patio. We are carefully tending to that pumpkin in hopes it might become jack-o-lantern size for our smallest grandchild.
For some of us, the beginning of school means the return to routines. For others it is more poignant. I watch the young mother across the street who peeks from her hiding place behind the drapes to make sure her little boy (the I-can-do-it-myself kid)catches the bus. It is his first year and he leans forward a little seeking the center of gravity for the backpack he proudly carries. I don't see a lunch pail. No Roy Rogers or Lone Ranger metal container to carry the peanut butter and strawberry jam smeared on the smashed slices of Wonder Bread. No air-filled Twinkies to trade for a homemade cupcake. I hear the schools serve breakfast these days so my little neighbor probably takes what I used to pine for - "hot lunch."
It is for sure that September foreshadows changes and even some endings. The sun rises a little later, and a little lower, each morning now. Soon there will be no reason to lift up the shades each morning. Twilight begins to separate families as children are called in from their play sooner and adults have almost completed their seasonal yard work. In my childhood neighborhood the adults devised clever ways to let their children know it was time to come in. Some blew a whistle or rang a bell but my mother turned on the porch light to let me know it was time to come in from the hide-and-go-seek or kick-the-can games. Of course, as I had tried to tell her, if I was hiding I couldn't see the porch light.
On weekends, we stayed out until the last rays of the absent sun filtered light across the prairie and shadows flitting through bare cottonwood trees became monsters waiting for October's Halloween. It was then that we began our search for the biggest pumpkin to snatch from the neighbors garden.
Used to be folks could burn leaves they raked from their yards and that autumn aroma cannot be found in the best of candles. Used to be those same folks lingered at the fire and watch the tiny tendrils of smoke drift into the night sky before they retreated to their winter homes where they began addressing holiday cards that would substitute for the handshakes of September.