It’s less than an hour before midnight. Very soon another September is going to end. If I turn down the music playing from my computer, I doubtless can hear October’s footsteps from down the hallway––heavy, steady, and calculated. Midnight will strike and with it will come a knock on my door; it will be October, and he––yes, I believe it is male––will insist on being let in.
I’m not sure if I want to entertain October just yet. But, as with the Months that came before him, October will not be turned away. Whether I like it or not, he will come in and live with me for all of thirty-one days.
“Time flies so fast,” is both painfully trite and undeniably true.