September is more than a month,really;it is a season,an achieveme nt in itself.It begins with August's leftovers and it ends with October's preparations,but along the way it achieves special satisfactions.Af ter summer's heat and haste,the year consolidates itself.Deliberate Se ptember--in its own time and tempo--begins to sum up another summer.
With September comes a sense of autumn.It creeps in one misty dawn and vanishes in the hot afternoon.It tiptoes through the treetops.roug ing a few leaves,then rides a tuft of thistle down across the valley an d away.It sits on a hill top and hoots like an October owl in the dusk.It plays tag with the wind.September is a changeling,busy as a squirre l in a hickory tree,idle as a languid brook.It is summer's ripen and r ichness fulfilled.