The calendar says September, one of my favorite months, though it rarely gets the respect it deserves.
D. K. Wall:Take its name, September, literally the seventh month, and probably was way back on Romulus's Roman calendar.
D. K. Wall:And then they tacked on two additional months, January and February, to the beginning of the year.
D. K. Wall:Or they moved it from the end of the year to the beginning of the year or something. Let's just say historians go to war over these things and I'm not getting involved.
D. K. Wall:However it happened, the poor seventh month became the ninth without a renaming.
D. K. Wall:After the assassination of Julius Caesar, the old fifth month called Quintilis but now was the seventh month became July.
D. K. Wall:And the successor to Julius Caesar, Augustus Caesar, renamed Sextilis after himself, the ultimate vanity project, August.
D. K. Wall:But the next Roman emperor in line, Tiberius, rejected the idea despite efforts to rename September after him.
D. K. Wall:Tiberius' successor, Gaius, had no such qualms. His full name was Gaius Julius Caesar Augustus Germanicus. Since much of his name was already used, he tried to rename the month Germanicus.
D. K. Wall:It didn't stick. After Gaius' assassination, the month name reverted. To explain why, I only need to mention that when he was a kid, Roman soldiers nicknamed him little boot or Caligula. Let's say September dodged a bullet on that one.
D. K. Wall:But enough history. I like September just as it is. Let me explain by describing, oh, the first day of September, a typical day here in Asheville.
D. K. Wall:I rise before everyone else in the house, canine or human. Always have and always will.
D. K. Wall:The moon is a few days past full, but still sits high, its light piercing the windows and illuminating my path through the house, silvering the hardwood floors and catching in the glass doors of the kitchen cabinets like a second moon.
D. K. Wall:That's helpful since sunrise doesn't happen until after seven, nearly an hour later than just two months ago. That's one glory of September, each day growing shorter.
D. K. Wall:The sunrise a minute later, the sunset a tick of the clock earlier. The equinox looms when night will become longer than day once again.
D. K. Wall:I pour a cup of coffee and step outside, still clad in shorts and a T shirt, summer clothing. The morning air, though, is a tad cooler, the slightest bit less humid.
D. K. Wall:A breeze rustles the grass, carrying the green mineral smell of night cooled earth, the first hints of the chilly autumn to come. Summer doesn't loosen its grip without a fight, but the time is coming to an end.
D. K. Wall:Some mourn this, of course. The kid trudging back to a classroom when he'd rather be riding his bicycle, playing a pickup game of ball, or hanging out in the yard.
D. K. Wall:Those who revel in the long days of summer. Or the vacationers packing hotels, restaurants, and touristy gift shops.
D. K. Wall:But not me. The heat of summer exhausts me. The sun beating down, sweat rolling across my skin, the crash of thunder into the evenings.
D. K. Wall:While I will always take frigid days of winter over the scorching summer, my favorite times of year are the changes. March and April break winter's grip as Mother Nature roars back to life, and September and October as she shuts down again.
D. K. Wall:A rustle in the shadows outside the fence tells me I'm not alone. A black bear ambles by, his black coat glossy in the half light, rippling over shoulders thick with a summer's bounty. He slows to pluck berries from vines, the annual rite of hyperphagia.
D. K. Wall:He needs to consume 15 to 20,000 calories daily, packing on up to four pounds of fat a day to survive the long naps of winter. Every day this time of year is Thanksgiving for him, and I'm truly jealous.
D. K. Wall:Deeper in the brush, I see a buck raise its head. Its magnificent antlers glistening with morning dew, velvety tines catching the first pink light like polished wood.
D. K. Wall:He sniffs the air, warily watching the bear, but the distance is wide and his small herd too large to be of interest.
D. K. Wall:A doe drifts behind him, Her fawn underfoot, still sporting spots, legs too long for its body, nose twitching at every unfamiliar scent the morning offers.
D. K. Wall:Over the hum of crickets, the gobbling of turkeys rises in the background. A hawk screeches as it lifts into the early morning on a search for breakfast, wings pumping hard against air still thick with night's chill before it catches a thermal and glides into the darkness.
D. K. Wall:His flight disturbs a murder of crows who squabble in protest. A ragged black chorus scolding him across the treetops. Not that he appears to notice or care.
D. K. Wall:The horizon behind me shows hints of pink, and my coffee cup nears empty. So I drift back inside.
D. K. Wall:On the counter is a basket of apples, picked fresh from an orchard just a few miles away. I pluck one, the skin a deep red, blushing with streaks of gold, and bite into it, savoring the sweet juices.
D. K. Wall:Time to rouse the dogs. They yawn and stretch, fluffy tails wagging slowly in anticipation. We hit the trails as the songbirds strike up their morning chorus, a cheerful celebration intertwined with the croaks of frogs and the buzz of bees.
D. K. Wall:The first hints of color dot the trees, flecks of red and orange amidst a sea of green, a sourwood here, a dogwood there, the early volunteers of a much larger show still to come. A few early achievers among the leaves float to the ground and crunch underfoot.
D. K. Wall:We are still weeks away from the brilliance of autumn, the maples, ash, and oak painting the mountains with their glow. But, I savor the taste of the spectacle to come.
D. K. Wall:Our walk is uneventful. The usual scrambling rabbits and squirrels amuse the dogs. A waddling raccoon disappears up a tree.
D. K. Wall:The gurgling of a creek as the water tumbles over rocks slicked green with moss, the sound rising and falling as the trail dips close and pulls away again.
D. K. Wall:Back at the house, I enjoy breakfast on the porch before retreating to the air conditioned interior to tackle my work.
D. K. Wall:Soon the days will be cool enough to balance a laptop outside, but summer heat lingers yet. The afternoon remains hot and sticky, but only for a few hours.
D. K. Wall:By dinnertime, we savor our meal outside, something we wouldn't have done just a week or two ago. We watch the sun set before the clock strikes eight.
D. K. Wall:The shadows lengthen as I nestle in a rocking chair with a good novel. The evening breezes drifting across the porch, carrying the first chorus of crickets and the occasional hoot of a distant owl.
D. K. Wall:The dogs stretch out beside me enjoying the weather as much as I until we call it a night. As I stretch out in bed, I hesitate for a second before pulling a blanket over me. It may stay the night or I may kick it off.
D. K. Wall:But that's part of the glory of September here in Asheville. Some days still steam and will for a few more weeks, but their frequency will diminish.
D. K. Wall:Frost isn't on the menu for quite some time, but it's waiting in the wings. Patient. Ready to streak the ground silver on some morning not so far away.
D. K. Wall:The summer tourists are back at work and school. The leaflookers of autumn haven't yet clogged our roads.
D. K. Wall:For a few glorious weeks, we can venture out without worrying about traffic or crowds. Hit a favorite restaurant without a reservation or the risk of a long wait. Wander through the shops without fighting the mobs.
D. K. Wall:With the Blue Ridge Parkway in our backyard, we can go north or south, doubling our altitude in less time than it takes to eat a meal.
D. K. Wall:The trails are nearly empty, giving us the opportunity to strike out for stunning vistas, the ridgelines rolling away in blue gray waves toward a hazy horizon, and without worrying about crowds and noise.
D. K. Wall:Yes, September is a quiet month, an unassuming month, a time with only a hint of the change to come, and yet with change all around.
D. K. Wall:It might lack the drama of other months, the celebratory holidays, the extended vacations, but in that lack is its beauty.
D. K. Wall:So I wave goodbye to August heat and its clamor and step gladly into September's Quiet Promise.