Standout September

I recall one September, years ago;
it was ninety five degrees fahrenheit
on the twenty fifth, but it did not slow
us in the least—instead, we had a bite
then rushed to the beach as if July…
the water warm as Erie goes, small waves
to lap the shore and us wading knee-high,
a part of what the summer-seeker craves.
How could it be?  We said on the way home,
the ninth month here, and warm ambient air 
embracing us much like the shoreline foam
does to the sand, that this month is so rare,
so record-setting…full moon high, a rush
of gladness to our hearts, a memory
set sensual that almost made us blush.
That month regarded us, all right, a glee
of days turned into weeks preceding lake
excursion, like time dressed in his Sunday
best, like a man about town on the make!
A sunny month, with each and every ray 
of solar giving lapped up by us peeps,
at month’s end—memories of Labor Day
still fresh within our minds, awareness keeps
like Canfield Fair and cotton candy, rides
to thrill a minute, horses' flowing mane;
yet then another memory collides
with one of other times, perhaps a bane
like hurricane that crashed along the coast;
(and I believe it happened on the first.)
Yet all in all, September was to boast; 
we drank of it to slake our raging thirst.
May it abide to always hold my heart. 
That September was different,
right from the start.


34 Lines
Writer’s Cramp
9-18-19