I just had one of those odd little flashes, where that little voice in the back of my head just whispered, “Psssst. It’s going to be fall soon.” To which the rest of my head replied, “Rock!”
I love fall. It’s my favorite season, and until 2001 September was my second favorite month of the year (behind December, obviously; any month with both Christmas and a man’s birthday is likely to be undislodgeable from the top of his list). I’m so ready to break out my jackets and my favorite old overcoat, although I might have to send said coat to the tailor’s to get some missing parts replaced again (for instance, a chunk of the belt buckle is missing).
Next, though, comes one of my least favorite seasons: August. Muggy, draggy, cram-in-the-last-gasps-of-summer August. Luckily, I have a few things I’m seriously looking forward to (like an Eddie from Ohio show and the Counting Crows show and seeing Jess and Talon in the New York Fringe Festival), which will help make it fly by, but I can’t wait for that first cool breeze to whisper by and tickle the back of my neck. C’mon, September. I’m ready for you.