Wake me up when September ends

The street we live on is lined with large stately oak trees that provide a wide canopy to the houses below. This morning as I walked out on the front porch, around eight squirrels were busy hoarding acorns that were falling from the trees like rain. All down the street squirrels and chipmunks were busy scurrying from yard to yard, their mouths stuffed with nuts.

I've never lived anywhere that truly has fall or autumn. Texas had a *smidge* of it, but for the most part, there was no extravagant show of autumn color. The leaves turned brown and fell off, with an occasional tree that was slightly yellow before turning brown. And Florida - forget it. We were lucky if it ever got cool enough to actually wear long sleeves.

But here, there is a sense of anticipation for the beginning of fall. There is an unspoken, but tangible sense of the need for future preparation. I feel a little lost and out of my element.

This may sound strange, but in Florida the lack of seasons actually dissipated my depression about infertility. Sure, the names of the month changed, but there wasn't a constant reminder of the changing time present around you. Driving to work in January looked exactly like it did in August.

As the summer ends, and time slips into autumn, the changes are starting already. Apples are heavy on the trees, some oaks and maples have already started turning - their leaves tongues of flame that reach out into the blue sky.

And as everything changes so dramatically around me, I am reminded (rather unwelcomely) that I am still in many ways the same. Aside from now being two years older, I still don't have a definite direction or answers.

It's still hard. It doesn't send me into dissolving tears like it did at first, but it's still emotionally draining.

How did this time slip away from me? How is it that we are not any closer than what we were before to having a child?

I'm not sure if this makes any sense at all.

Any of it.