This bell at Vesper Hill reminds me that most of Maine's kids went back to the classroom today, on one of the most spectacular days of the summer, unfortunately for them. No matter how much someone might actually like school, even the blindest of bookworms would miss the warm sun and bright skies and tranquil waters of a day like today.
I wonder if one ever shakes the approach of September as a time of change. No question that the end of summer, short as it is in New England, would be enough to rue, without the prospect of more walls than trees, more work than vacation, more cold than warm staring us in the face. September and October can be the most beautiful months of all, we tell ourselves, but the statement is not necessarily heart-felt. And in typical New England fashion, I'm not sure if it's regret or dread that drives us - regret that another summer is in the books, dread of another winter on lay-away.
For me it was usually the former, since summer represented a hint of that thing that's hardest to attain - living in the moment. There's nothing wrong with worries and responsibilities; unfortunately, they like to control us and the classroom and office are the most obvious symbols of the predicament. The kid that has to go in the space of a day from the responsibilities of center field in the gloaming evening, to the worries of algebra and peer pressure under fluorescent lights, may not be the better for it. The bell does not ring for his education but for his indoctrination. September is not so beautiful if your life is cramped.
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