The hurrah of Labor Day festivities is always seasoned - for me at least - with a dollop of melancholia, a sense of an ending. A touch of grey drifts across my last lobster roll of the season, just one of a string of bittersweet "lasts". Goodbye to Sunday night sunset cocktails on this beach above, so long to riding my 20 year old bike along the golf course to our small summer church, farewell to late afternoons needlepointing with friends on the beach, adieu to the leisurely la la land that is August in New England. For me most of all, Labor Day oozes with goodbyes to dear friends and the warm embrace of this small community.
Yet I know how lucky I am, this melancholia is only the shadow cast by gratitude. READ MORE HERE