The wind blows strong outside the window. Its voice is strong, and it brings hundreds of uninvited rain-drops to the window of the house. They make small tickling sounds, like mice walking in the attic. It is late evening, on a dreary Monday. Who would have thought that the wind can bring so much change? The streets are wet, and every tree trunk planted on the pavement gaps starts smelling cold. It is September. For a while now. I call it the transition month. The slow summer nights have come to an end. Drinking cold beer on the porch, while enjoying the neighbor’s loud music has also stopped. Digging the ground with bare hands is gone. The flowers too are bowing their heads towards the earth, they are succumbing. Soon, their last buds will start falling too. Like the leaves from the trees. Slowly but consistently. September is the transition month. And the month when drinking hot steaming tea makes sense again. The scented candles are out of the cabinets, the heater is on duty again and the days are slowly becoming darker. There is a steady rhythm in the autumnal ritual. Everything seems to diminish in size, to go back to the simpler and the essential. The colors of Nature acquire a golden aura, as the sun sets in the evening sky. Tones of brown and orange are spreading everywhere. The rain clouds have left, and the smell of the wet ground invades the house through the open window. It is chill in the house. I stand up and close the window, with slow calculated moves. I draw the curtains and stop to look outside. So many things are changing, but so many stay the same. It is September.
Photo: Bourtange Fortress in Southeast Groningen. November 2017. The Netherlands. Minolta dynax 7000i, Kodak Gold, ISO 200, 35mm film.