When September Comes

Yesterday, I crossed the footbridge, waved to the crossing guard for the last morning. The school year is over in New York City and though I don’t participate in the system, it defines my mornings, as yellow buses line up at the Quaker school, crossing guards usher us through the streets, and sticky-fisted children with humpback packs stomp and march the sidewalks at the very same time I trudge to the subway.

I’ll see you in September, the crossing guard said.
It seems a long way away.
This morning, I walked the silence. The streets were different.  Less whir. A new hum whispered.
Over the weekend, I took a trip to Washington D.C. to visit a friend. It was quiet there and we had long conversations that traveled from room to room in the sun-stream of her apartment, then through the streets of her own neighborhood. 
It was not a trip to see the sights or pack in activities. More of a trip to see one another. As she suffers from a tremendous personal loss, she told me how she views things differently. The same job. The same friendships. The same romantic relationships. Before. And After They are not the same. They take on new meaning in light of what she has experienced. 
This is what I sense lately. The same streets feel different.
Change is constant.  But I find myself feeling that I want to hold on to the way things have always been and embrace what is new.
Is that possible?
When September comes, my walk to the train each morning will be just as it was yesterday, the last day, and, yet, it won’t be that way at all.
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2 thoughts on “When September Comes

  1. The students have gone home from the local university, here and the town feels very different. It's quiet and peaceful, which is nice, but I like it when they all come back in the fall and the town is alive.

    Things are always changing, you have to enjoy the now in your lives. (By you I mean people in general.)

    Like

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