Today (Tuesday) is the first day of school in my neighborhood. The leaves are sounding a little different – a little drier as the breeze ruffles through, and already they’re giving up their valiant effort to hang on. The green of summer is surrendering to autumnal shades.
Change. Sometimes we fight it. Sometimes we embrace it, like these two little girls ready for school.
As I jogged past the kids and parents gathered on each street corner, I paused to wave and yell “Happy first day of school!”
I thought back to all our first days as a family. Sure, the marking first days of school when we had “adopted” family members, Sue and Heather over for dinner (always homemade chicken pot pie) to hear a recap of every high and low, every “he said, she said” of K and M’s six hours at school. But there have also been first days of new jobs, first days of marriage, first days of grad school, first days in a new home or apartment for each of us. New seasons.
And each first day means there’s been a last day. A last day of summer. A last day of being single. The last day in a familiar city that’s been home.
As I jogged and reflected, I was reminded of two things.
