Saturday, August 22, 2009

and just like that, the day faded and melancholy swept over my lightheartedness with a nostalgic familiarity, like an aftertaste of something much better than inevitable.

these days have a way of ending more quickly than i can stand. it's not enough to photograph them, ride a bike through their hours and sun-dapplings, or bumble around wondering what to do while a child naps. it's not enough to make grandiose plans of the highest productivity, enjoyment, or personal improvement. it's not enough to wish that they would stay.

september seeps back into consciousness with the sure-footed cadence of an atomic clock, bringing closer, one catastrophic second at a time, the end of a summer that will always be golden, regardless of how many days it rained or how many rides i couldn't make. this kind of sadness is routine. it lacks the panache of unrequited love, or the all-encompassing and clinically recognized depression. it is subtle, unavoidable, and absolute.

i wish i was riding right now, but it's eleven thirty-seven on a saturday night, and the kids will be up in a few hours, and there's breakfast to be made, hands to wipe, floors to sweep, meals to prepare, a season to end, a sadness to set in. 

thank goodness no one will ever know.

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