Today was a good, crisp day. Not crisp in the sense of proper fall coolness, but cool enough for late summer, with clouds that were definitely autumn-brand. Not the tall, aloof, billowing thunderheads of summer; not the low, ominous, foggy clouds of winter; but nice, teased-out cotton in a variety of shapes and colors set against a deeply saturated blue sky. There was a good breeze, and the promise of a clear evening. That was not to be.

Spring really eased into summer this year, with just the cool, wet June we needed coming out of a nasty drought. July was mostly unforgiving, as was early August, but September so far has been surprisingly cool and damp. Oh, sure, we’ll get another stray day of 90s before the month is out, but it will be an isolated interloper in the mild and friendly company of days that take us steadily up to warm fires, dark afternoons, and Christmas. Days that keep us inside, help us appreciate warmth and clothing and walls. Living isn’t easy in the wintertime, and comfort is that much more welcome then.

It is still September 10 as I write this. I may not have time to write anything about September 11 tomorrow, a shortcoming your blog bookmarks are only too likely to address. I remember September 10, though. We had just returned weeks earlier from a vacation in Pennsylvania, then an unexpected visit to Florida for the funeral of a young friend. I had just hired an engineer. School had started up. My wife was in the shower. The kids had just finished breakfast. My mother-in-law called.

Then it became September 11. We watched those buildings burn, and saw them collapse again and again. We saw men dive 100 stories to their death. We saw the burning Pentagon. We heard of a downed plane in rural Pennsylvania. We wondered how many more planes would crash that day. We thought about friends who were out of town, and how long it would be before they could return home. We sat in horror at death tolls thought to be as high as 30,000 souls. I wanted blood. Take our dead, I thought. Take them. We will come for you.

Today it is still September 12. We didn’t get the clear, cool evening we thought we had coming. Indeed, it is now very much winter for 130,000 American service men and women and their families, and spring is in many ways far off for all of us. We do have, if we can remember, the comfort of the warm fire and the dark afternoon that Providence affords us in our relative peace and safety here. October 1 felt like that two years ago. It should still feel like that now.

We didn’t get the clear, cool evening we wanted, but we do not pack up and move because of one storm. We live here, and no winter, be it early or late, is going to chase us out. Sure, we remember what the sky looked like the day before, and we were certainly taken in by its calm. Better, though, to know when the cold really comes in around here. Better to stock up the firewood, insulate the attic, enjoy the warmth and comfort. Get a blower, fit a plow on the front of the truck, push that snow back. It will be spring again soon.

And spring will come again soon. But when it comes, my calendar will still read 9/12.

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• Posted by Tim on Wednesday, September 10, 2003 at 11:59:34 pm PDT
• Category: Miscellany
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