The twilight in-between-place of August into September is upon us. It is now in New York that the zone between here and there, land and ocean, air and water starts to become even fuzzier. Temperatures reach parity, as the light slowly creeps away earlier and earlier. Kids, apprehensive about the coming first day, feel it too as the odd melancholy they'll learn to fear and crave hits them like a soft breeze. They'll witness their parents scurry about trying to land that one last perfect beach cookout while talking excitedly about how much they've missed wearing their sweaters. And around this time they'll be indoctrinated into the eternal battle of ant vs. cricket. Or at least that's what they might be learning. In reality they'll just be watching cricket vs. grasshopper, as the context of seasonal change has little to do with the collective plan for our generation. For the generation before us, and before that. At least here.
The surf season is right around the corner, and for those who've spent all summer paddling around in the small stuff to prepare themselves for the bigger stuff, anticipation is high and positive. For the rest of us, of course, there's a sense of added insult to injury as we are weak and unready. Likely though, we'll paddle out anyhow, hoping we won't hurt ourselves or, perhaps more intelligently, we'll sit on the shore on the more critical days, making out ant-ish plans for next year.
So this morning my Facebook roll has a few tidbits of that sort of things-we-all-knew and have-been-around-for-a-while but decided-we-could-live-with because why-worry-about-it-at-this-point. And I fall into that category too. Cue the crickets.
Click the pics.
Oh yeah, and there's this:
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