Posted by on Sep 6, 2016 in Blog | Comments Off on September


I am sitting on my porch watching the rising light over the backyard trees across the street, and it feels way too early.  I’m up well before 6am for the third morning in a row, my body still working through the remains of the jet lag that followed me back across the Atlantic.  And my son, never one to miss out on an opportunity to have a few minutes of quiet reading or ipad time before breakfast hits the table, has followed me down the stairs.  It is the first day of school and in a way that reveals so much about the kind of person he is, he woke up and exclaimed, “Today is going to be a GREAT day!”

For as long as I can remember, there has been a reason for my guts to know the feeling of the morning after Labour Day.  First as a public school student, then as a university undergrad/graduate school student, and finally as a teacher.  There were a few years, post-teaching, where I still felt the back-to-school ghosts of habit moving through the familiar corridors of nerves and memories, triggering belly tightenings and goosebumps, even though there was no longer a reason for them.  My cells knew September and they demanded that I felt all of the ways in which it would be different from August: back to work, home cooked meals and piano lessons, back to moderation, dedication and feet firmly planted.

Summer is swollen and succulent and aqueous, indulgent and boundless–necessarily so– but also unsustainable. Behind my relief that we are moving into a time of industry and groundedness, there’s a wrinkle of sadness. Every September there’s a death of something beautiful that has simply run its course.  The grip that I feel in my guts this morning is not only for the anticipation of possibility and my longing for roots, but it is also a grief for having to pull my claws out of the woven expanse of late mornings, later sunsets and endless family hang-outs. But it’s time.  It’s going to be a great day.

All content by Lisa Veronese. Please do not publish or copy my material without my consent.