Remember this someday...

Remember that once you sat in a kiddie chair and cried because grown-upping was hard, and monday was hard, and then you toughened up and you did it anyway. 
Remember when you realized (again) that you don't have to know it all and do it all... yet. Everything--responsibilities, knowledge, authority--comes with time; and the very nature of experience is that you've experienced things. (This sounds like a obvious statement, but sometimes the obvious needs to be stated.) 
Remember that once, you didn't know the first thing about taking your car to the repair shop, getting insurance, or retirement savings plans, but you asked and researched and learned. 
Remember when you drove to Walgreens for a thermometer in the middle of the work day because you paranoidly (but somewhat wishfully) thought you had a fever. After the beeps, the little screen only read 97.3.
Remember how every day your arrival at home was a insane balancing act to see how much you could bring from your car with out dropping any of it, and how you always regretted that decision when you met a locked door.
Remember the piles of books you eventually *did* have time to read.
Remember the weekend hours spent catching up on the TV shows you never knew about as a kid.
Remember finding the teacup and saucer in its many, mottled shades of blue on your nightstand and how you couldn't wait for that inaugural cuppa Tardis blend.
Remember how two months seemed like years... remember that someday two years will seem like a few months.
Remember, and don't forget.

Welcoming October

I'm drawn out of the house, out from the quiet comfort of my living room and enveloping couch to the concrete wall of porch, by the rush of wind in the trees. Those trees--some have to be near a hundred years old--shade and enclose the neighborhood in a safe little pocket. Here, in their domain, it is dark already, dark enough for automatic lights to flick on. Look a little beyond their reach however, and the sky still shines day-blue. Here, we're just one tiny world nestled inside a larger one. I feel small, but comfortable in my smallness.

I pull my knees up to my chest, sitting on the wall. The wind makes another swoop down the street; I can hear it as it stirs the leaves in its approach before it even touches me, lifting bangs from forehead, sending me into shudders. I won't go in for a sweater, though. If I go in, the moment is over; the magic is gone.

Are all Octobers this windy, or is just it this particular one? It doesn't matter. What matters is that October is here, and with it, Autumn.

Autumn (O kindred spirit of seasons), you have been long awaited. Welcome back, dear friend.