The house was chilly and quiet today. We have had a run of company. Our daughter was the last to go. She and Elsie had been here for about ten days. A baby Great Dane with tummy troubles is no fun when you live in Manhattan in a sixth floor walk up. So they came and stayed for a while.
Today they left with boyfriend Dan all in a rush and it was back to just the three of us and all the animals plus one. Benjamin is back on the island for the fishing derby and his Olive is visiting us in the meantime.
You would think a house with four dogs and a cat and a bunch of chickens outside, plus two adults (or what passes for them anyway) and one teenager, would not be particularly quiet. But it was.
The house seemed to sigh when they left as if to ask for some attention of its own. And with the wind blowing, the day seemed just right for the first fire of the season. We piled the logs high and set about washing slipcovers and sweeping floors.
September is a beautiful month but it always feels a little lonesome too. My mother used to say even when I was just a little girl that I got “moony” in September. It is the turning I think. Nostalgia’s door is flung wide open. School busses stopped on the road can do it or the faded flower garden or a bunch of rugs hanging on the fence. We leave behind watermelon and fishing poles and ice cream down by the harbor. We turn instead toward apple crostadas, piles of leaves, and old soft socks.
Supper was comfort food, a hot spicy Stromboli. The dough spent the afternoon rising on the counter and we ate in jammies and robes and picked a movie to watch in the dark in front of the fire. I have these two roommates who I love and who love me back. So come on September I am ready.
