Labor Day weekend is always bittersweet - the weather still summerlike but mellowed, the late-day light flattering flora, fauna and human folk alike. While my parents lived at the seacoast, I spent Labor Day weekends soaking in as much beach time as possible, feeling the sand slipping away grain by grain, the light fading all too early in the day.
The fall, of course, has its own charms and after regretfully letting summertime go we embrace its crispness, pushing our toes into unaccustomed socks and shoes, wrapping ourselves in the softness of woolens, drawing a little closer again to share warmth we pushed away on oppressive summer nights. We adapt and re-learn to love the coziness of indoor life, interior musings. But September is transitional time, with still-sharp heat, the occasional tropical humidity carried up from the South Atlantic or Gulf of Mexico by passing storms, ragweed pollens irritating our nostrils and, in Boston, the invasive return of rambunctious college students. By October, the transition is complete and we yield to the new season.