Pushing September away
We waited for September while learning to be us. Together.
I do not like September. It always feels like the closing line of the summer and there is never much to look forward to in autumn and winter.
In June you said His poetry was too fragile while I was playing Nick Drake’s Northern Sky against the heavens, the Atlantic Ocean and your chest on my back.
You know this song always made me think of you even ‘before us’, even if I did not know it is one of your ‘five favourite hits of all times’.
That night our life slipped into the comfort, necessity of us.
We then slept in a deconsecrated church curling up before the wind and the night.
I think that day we also saw a fox.
And sheep everywhere.
And donkeys.
And Molly, the dog, thought she was a sheep too.
We, instead, we were learning to be us. Together.
You brought me on the roof of the cottage, just over the kitchen, to see the most beautiful view in the world: that of our new house which is not new and, technically, not yet ours.
All in one day, we could have sworn we met a pirate woman on the beach, took our boots off and entered the…
