Sensational September

The dawn chorus stirred me from my deep dreamy slumbers. Ugh, it really couldnt be time to get up already!  Too tired I thought I'd just turn over to snooze dreamily back to sleep,  I then sat bolt upright looked at the colour of the sky it was already light. Remembering the pups, a wave of fear & dread, laced with joyous excitement, filled me.  Leaping out of bed, descending as quickly as possible downstairs into the utility room to allow the little pups out into the garden. Dreary or is it weary are the words that would best suit my demeanour most.
How two little pups can get soooooo excited! Trying to persuade them outside is by far the best place to have our morning cuddles, especially as the little one widdles with excitement. Ooh the joys!!
Hmmm, so I trundled my way across the lawn down towards the trees & the huge beech hedge. Standing near to their 'Weee Weeeee's' area, trying my best to say wee without it sounding the least bit exciting or encouraging! If you have a pup, you'll know why!!!! After their done businesses. Playtime!!
They darted in & out of the beech hedge, little black noses & wagging tails. I'm not sure at what point I became September but it wasn't long until I was smiling at the gorgeous blue sky, the wonderful feel of the heavy morning dew beneath my feet. The lush green of the trees - the colours - the low morning sunlight, glorious rays breaking through the trees.  Think this passage by Michael Bywater sums up my gratitude perfectly.

September Song. 
"If there was ever a month you could fall in love with, it's September. And like real beauty, September wears her glories subtly. To appreciate her (and if ever there were a female month, it's September) it's necessary to gaze directly, with a new eye. Look out of the window. Look at the light: the sun low enough to cast shadows, like side-lit danseuses, but not yet veiled and peremptory. Smell the air: dust and the first trace of wood smoke, the silver ghost of a dormant frost moon. The scent of September is the scent of creosote, privet, warm stone and the strange, cleaned smell of traffic on the evening streets. September mornings are alive with promise. The air lies slantwise, a slight pinch of chill with the windows open in the evening and the murmur and laughter in the streets below. Other months we hope our way through like gruff men with sticks and a purpose, or loll, stiff and unaccustomed, like chrysalids. Only September is now. For once in the year, we're here and we're happy.”


May your September Sunday be a peaceful celebration.