I don't always handle transitions gracefully. I'd almost always rather feel squarely in one place than anywhere between two. The starker the line I can draw between an end and a new beginning, the better. As a kid this meant donning woolly knee socks for the first day of school. It didn't matter if school began in late August and the temperature on the thermometer still hovered somewhere in the mid-eighties. In my mind the start of school meant that summer was officially over and the sooner I forgot about long lazy days of popsicles and sprinklers, the happer I'd be. It wasn't until after I graduated from college that I began my real love affair with September. All my life I'd been so busy rushing myself into fall that I had never allowed myself to appreciate the in-between-days---days when the temperatures dip low enough that I can finally crank on the oven, but the trees are still heavy with summer fruit. I celebrate September by making sweet tarts with peaches and plums and savory ones with tomatoes the size of my head. In these days I can take a long walk after my work day and still be accompanied by the sun. The early morning will sometimes call for a thin sweater, but by mid-day I'll need an iced tea to cool myself down. Turns out that these are the kinds of transitions I can enjoy. It's not that I'm reluctant to leave summer behind, it's just that I'm happy to take these days leading up to fall slowly. There will be plenty of time for woolly socks come November.