I spent an hour or so planting lilacs on Saturday afternoon. It was a classic late-fall day—gray sky, occasional drizzle—and I was feeling the way I always feel this time of year . . . a little cold, a little older.
And as often happens in fall, I heard a flock of Canada geese approaching from the north. On some days their flights south, then maybe north again, then east, then have we gone west yet? make me laugh out loud ("Make up your minds, you guys! Are you staying or going?"). But on Saturday, I stopped digging for a moment, let my heart catch a little, and watched the majestic, raucous formation pass overhead.
I should be over it now, I know.
It doesn't matter much how old I grow.
I hate to see October go.