Seasonal allergy time, not to the usual suspects, for me. It’s the rush-ins.
Went to the store and saw Summer on sale, along with displays for Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas!
It’s still, officially, Summer.
As I’ve aged, time’s accelerated. That which, I was convinced at the time, took eons to turn sixteen, needed only a few eye-blinks to reach seventy-six. Who needs the rush-ins to add jet fuel to the mix?
I’m with the writer of Ecclesiastes. “There’s a time for everything, and a season for every activity under heaven…”
Take yesterday, for example. It took way too long to turn left onto route 127. School busses, beach seekers and tour busses formed a slow moving wall, idling me long enough to rot the fruit of the spirit called patience.
This time of year, tour busses humpalump along, hauling leaf-peepers. It’s Fall in New England. Well, not officially, but close enough that stalks of sunflowers and pumpkins show-off in parched fields. Mums splash color across grocery store and household entrances. As for leaves, they’re still mostly green or thirsty looking.
In our neighborhood, pots of mums, and dried flower wreaths show up, where once potted Geraniums and hanging baskets held sway.
I’ll get to mine soon.
Bought a small pumpkin, a couple of mums and a mug for my southern daughter-in-love. It read, “Happy Fall Y’All.”
And it will be, officially, in a few days.
Until then, I’m staying away from the rush-ins.
They’re out to hack into the current season.
Don’t fall for their ploys.
O.K. So one mug, a pumpkin and 2 mums does not a co-conspirator make.
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