Summer’s sun sets and the earth makes a start on its sleep. Schools open and children decide on stationery, while adults rush at the warmth’s last embrace. Taking their final breaths before the world halts, hides, hibernates.
A world become stationary, stopped, is where I start. September is my New Year. Beginning at sun’s down, in thick jumpers, and hot coffees. Where cooling breezes dash through leaves, clinging and crisping to their holiday home trees.
My eyes cast up and my heart quickens at new beginnings, where old ones end. I have always looked this way. Hopeful for new boys in new clothes, new faces; my world refreshed.
I long for a September boy. Sunburnt noses, under bright eyes, that crinkle with country smiles. Cocked and cocky with a flair for thought. All fair, hardy and weather worn. Minds sharp in bodies strong.
There have always been boys, like this, or so I like to imagine. Though maybe they are only in memory. In my mind’s eye of a forgotten time. All old English, forties films, scenes in literary forests. All Michael Redgraves, gentlemanly manners, twinkles in eyes.
So bright in the beginning. Eyes that caught on mine. Boys that seemed so shiny, before November darkness dulled the dazzle in their eyes. Silly of me to think we could have been something. So light, so quick, then gone. All promises failed and forgotten again by Spring’s first sun.
Though I don’t regret a single one. All smarts and swagger, and simple seconds. Silly somethings of nothings. When the world stopped and I started, thinking I was someone. Sweet September sons. I shall see you again.
During the Covid outbreak my writing teacher is challenging us to create a piece of writing based on a set of three specific words. This piece is based on the words: light, September, boy.
Unstuck Monsters 