The ninth month. Oh, brother, I couldn’t wait to get born. For someone known for lack of patience, I did acquire me some along my merry way. “Patience!” my mother used to shout, raising her hand to God. I did give it almost a month of days before dialing into the month, drilling in to claim my place. A Monday Child – moon day child.

Septembers are a magical month, for me, the Unicorn Moon Month, School started & long hot days of amusing myself could shift to other topics – assignments to be filled, so much easier for the directionless. I could be excited about what I was ‘supposed’ to be doing. For the monk, it’s ‘meditating’ – for the student it’s school which embodies Nirvana.

My mind hears a buzz of connection; my higher or spiritual mind hears Silence. There is only one moment left of Life & that is all there ever has been. This instant of Present Being, the holy instant, when the angels dance on your fingertips & you know just how many are there, by feel alone.

I never quite bought in on the ideas of others, yet I find myself swimming in the same red plastic bucket, climbing out the slippery sides to stand a moment before diving back in with all, squealing & eeling into the cold water as though it’s all I’ve ever wanted.

It seems the further ahead I stretch, the farther back along my roots must I travel from & draw upon for balance. Since there’s a “wobble” on the whole thing, the balance becomes only possible through sharing – holding another’s shoulder or grabbing an arm. I have only to reach out. Reach. Out. Draw. Upon.

I have moved among these Standing Stones before many times. I have not come out at the same place yet many exits overlap. No one describes how the stones erupt a floor, so many shale shelves that feel right to the feet. Everyone presumes the stones only stand upright.

Beware the standing stones with mirrors. Engage to Emerge!

I’m that girl in the trenchcoat glimpsed through the mist, damp hair curling. My name was never the same in any of the places I emerged, either.   

I found my way here. I am aware of the me’s living in so many places in Septembers of Yore. Above a garage, duplexed in T-or-C, in mystic Hillsboro during a full-out rain that falls twice when it bounces. Every sidewalk square here holds a memory. Even the shapes of the trees in varied profiles are familiar – here along Riverside is where the turkey vultures roosted for a couple of seasons. There were always beautiful feathers to be had when they cried off for mountain thermals.

These are the Septembers I revisit, not even thinking about the ones to come where roads lead to crystal futures. The ones where there are always chimes to be walked among.