I’ve always thought that the New Year should be celebrated in September. The school year starts then, as does the college year and, for me, most of my jobs have started in September.

In September, the summer slips into autumn, the air clears, the mornings are cold and crisp and the lethargy of the warm season fades away. I want to start something new.

The countryside is beautiful, fruits and berries are plentiful, the trees turn from green to gold, copper and scarlet, harvest is celebrated and Christmas lies ahead. I love September. My garden (below) is full of colour.


January is totally unsuitable for celebrating the new and looking to the future. The days are short (at least where I live), the weather is wet, cold and gloomy, and the lethargy of summer has been replaced with the lethargy of winter overindulgence.

April would be an acceptable substitute, but I’m going for September.


In Favour of September

The heart of winter is not a fit start

For a new year, or a new anything.

The dull days are short and gloomy and part of the misery of winter

And spring feels far away and all news is bad.

Reports of war and famine on the news again

And it’s hard to find a reason to be glad.

Echoes of Christmas excess, chain us to our bodies,

And weakened by the dark and cold,

We succumb to pestilence and flu.

January’s bite is far worse than its bark

So how come this month gets to start something new?

I sink in despair until I remember,

Another new year will start in September.


What do you think?





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