“Do you know," Peter asked, "why swallows build in the eaves of houses? It is to listen to the stories.” ~ J.M. Barrie, Peter Pan


there is a tenderness to september

a tenderness to that last kiss given to summer - a tenderness that leads me home to light candles, to leave the television off, a tenderness that tells me once again to fall into the slow song of the night, to sit in silent companionship with the darkness outside the doors.  i find myself softening to these faster, hurry-up days - perhaps the memories of all those childhood septembers remind me of the swiftness of the days; i barely remember the days of this year's summer moving by.  i'm not sure i could list any accomplishments - i can't say, as when i was child, today i climbed a tree and for a short while was a mockingbird.  perhaps the knowledge that soon i will want all the sunlight the shorter days can offer walks me into the outside, orange and yellow butterflies part of the landscape, masquerading as flowers and leaves until they take to the sky.  perhaps it is just that at last the thermometer stays several degrees below 100.

this evening, this last long holiday evening for a while, there is an off and on cool breeze, soft, soft, and there is the end of day birdsong, just chirps now and then as nests are settled into, and only a cricket or two cricketing.  there is a neighborhood cat who walks by the open door every night, who has, i think, at last accepted the truth of no maggie cat; he no longer sneaks by, attempting to avoid her, but stops at the door and sometimes takes a step or two inside and wishes me a good evening.  my heart feels quite fragile and quite in love with it all.

and suddenly, the air is filled with the sound of crickets.
the birds have all gone silent and to sleep.


  1. the breezes here are felt and loved as well.....it's been so long since our windows were wide open.

    the neighborhood cat, no longer afraid, made me smile and i could almost hear your heart.

    and i too can hear the crickets, while a new anthropologie candle burns....


  2. just now my windows are open and all i can hear is crickets, loud tonight, enjoying this cool, cool air. or perhaps sounding loud because it has been a while since the windows were open like this, a while since i listened.
    i want to sit here for a bit longer and enjoy these sounds, your words, the slow song of night.

  3. Oh, Debi...I cannot tell you how nourishing your words are for me.
    You are a gift. Just a gift. All wrapped up in white & blue & heat & crickets.

  4. oh my goodness what a sweet lullabye! :-)

  5. the air is cold in the bedroom but warm in the bed under a duvet, the cotton blanket rolled up and put away. beautiful words.

  6. fragile .. that is september for me..grateful for your thoughts by the window

  7. swoon.

    your words and your way, i am quite in love with it all.

    xo, graciel

  8. So sorry you are missing your dear maggie cat. This cat that stops by must feel your sorrow. But please tell me, where do the birds go to sleep at night? When it becomes quiet and we hear only the sounds of the crickets? Where, oh where?

  9. I was quite surprised how quickly fall came in this year. It is getting dark so early now, and I had to put the heat on last night for the very first time.
    This morning, we are wrapped in a dense fog. Oh how I love the fog! So moody and unpredictable.
    Happy fall to you, dear Debi.


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