Dear Friends,
The months inspire their own sort of synesthesia, don’t they? I can feel, taste, see, in flashes of associations, each one, its distinctive personality, color, shape. Still, September carries a particular presence. Wallace Stegner spoke of that “old September feeling, left over from school days, of summer passing, vacation nearly done, obli…
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Poetry Today to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.