backs pressed to the trampoline, eyes set to a blue sky, smell of September wading in the dead grass; slow to climb between the trees. book spines, the plastic film of pencil cases, hauling the thicker comforter back to bed. closing the blinds by 9, then by 8; now by 7. already, there are two snooze buttons before I unputty my frame from the mattress. already, I feel a heaviness creep up the porch steps.
we say, “I don’t want the summer to end,” and the subtitles read, “what if I don’t feel this happiness again?” “I worry about the changes to come.” “I’m scared of how quickly time slips away.” it makes sense to worry what’s out of our reach. I write this, wearing smoke from a forest fire three hours away. these months have been ripe with uncertainty, but change is a constant autumn has always carried. if I can, I’m not going to sweat the things I still have a say in.
a turn in weather, a season of life; how they have always coupled off—the threat of September and some harrowing circumstance. it’s not just the end of summer, it’s an imminent move from the home you love (The Goonies), or dad’s looking to get remarried (The Parent Trap), or you’re realizing this relationship has run its course and it’s time to leave (because your asshole boyfriend can’t empathize that your entire family just died) (Midsommar). an idea can feel all the more terrifying until you give it a name. a new job that challenges you. a change in relationship, falling in or out of love. setting boundaries with a friend. I’ve been spending time mulling over that instinct to fear; how I want to work harder in refusing to be another force holding myself back. will I be the kind of person that can love my decisions? can I change my mind if I need to? will I know that through whatever adjustment, I’ll still have myself?
maybe you’re on the cusp of your own September. the promise of sun, your full green leaves waning from your fingertips. what better way to remember when the nerves kick in, this happiness comes back—to watch the same shift take place just out the window and choose to be braver this time around. a wish granted in growing through the uncomfortable. I will be braver, pulling your arms through each sweater sleeve. I will be braver, skipping that second snooze. since last year, I’ve been taking inventory with every change, and a line keeps repeating back to me: how sweet it is, that none of me is the same.
In July, I started a poem with:
“Stevie Nicks asks if I can handle the seasons
of my life and I’m hoping
to be so sunburned by my happiness,
I stay warm enough all winter.”
It took me nearly a month to finish because I hated realizing I was waxing poetic for other ways of saying “no.”
We’ve finished the first week of September.
I’m okay if the sunburn fades.
with love,
schuyler (sky-ler)
venmo: schuylerpeck
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