September crisp.  The leaves are so gold, golder than I remember.  The wind is sharp and so is the tiny thrill inside.  I smile at the sky -- blue to match the crayon, if that were possible.  I am excited at the newness, the change; I sense it.  I realize now that my favorite season is WHICHEVER one is just beginning.  I want long denims on my thighs and dirt under my nails.  I want to toss the football then come in for cider.  I actually have domestic longings: to make pumpkin pie, to sort through drawers and organize.  This is a blessing because usually these things feel like chores.

     In my aging I see.  I search for meaning in every little thing.  My children teach me this.  I wish I had practiced the piano more.