September is the month of denial in New York. We can still pretend it's August and wear our silk sundresses and sandals, we can feast on the last of the corn and tomatoes, and we can sit in the park without makeup streaming down our faces. September is the best time here - it's summer lite.
I am talking about the weather, which is really, really boring, but I feel cheated. I feel robbed. I woke up this morning and it was positively AUTUMNAL. Gale force winds blow rain against the windows. It's gray and cold and my umbrella flipps inside out. We had exactly 15 days of real summer and then it was gone. Now it's woolly tights and layers and scarves. Dark colors. Being overbundled on the subway. Black. Goodbye brown shoulders. Goodbye freckled noses.
And I'm not ready.
I'm heading out to the Little House That Could tonight and the wind and cold will surely follow. It's a comfort that this weather is more beautiful at the beach, where Poseidon churns up the waves with his trident, leaving all manner of flotsam and jetsam on the shore. A bounty of beach glass. Twisted, tortured drift wood. Broken shells and seaweed. Perhaps I'll dust off my camera and bring you all back something for Monday.
Until then, have a wonderful weekend blog babies. xox
Photograph via Sabino.
