Come September, there will be no more flying machines.

Come September, lazy days spent trouncing through sand littered with shells will be no more.

Come September, the yellow butterflies will rise over the green of the quiet ocean.

Come September, the house will be too quiet and the quiet will overwhelm us.

Come September, the days will be long and lovely, breezy and sunny, and we will walk each day to the place of swings.

Come September, summer will be but a distant remembrance and we shall try to remember those days of resplendent nothingness.

Come September, we will put on shoes and get in cars and assimilate back into a world that requires the proper timeliness of plans.

Come September, my eyes will close and I shall remember how hot the sun felt as it is eased under my umbrella as the day began to close.

Come September, the way I kissed your small dimpled shoulders will beckon my soul on the days that time stood still on a late afternoon swim.

Come September, dreams of the coming summer will begin and I will wish that I have but one more chance to sit by the sea and hear the swells lap the shore.