Happy Labour Day, you working class writers. I don’t know about your particular climate, but here it’s sunny with just a touch of coolness. Harbinger of the coming change.
I’ve always liked Labour Day. Maybe it’s because it comes right after my birthday, so on some years it feels like my birthday becomes a holiday weekend*. Maybe it’s because I was one of those weird kids that looked forward to the start of school. Maybe it’s that it’s the start of autumn. Of my mind, I mean, not in the astronomical sense. In here the leaves have already turned.
Holidays are a funny time in any event. Everyone’s got traditions that go with them. Maybe the last family BBQ of the year. Maybe time to close up the cottage for the winter. Maybe leaving My Little Pony figures in your neighbour’s yard**.
Or maybe this is the time of year that you set aside for having a particular conversation.
Picture it. Two people on the grass. Leaves are already falling around them. There’s walkers on the trails nearby, but right here it’s just them. They’ve made time for this, just like they did last year, and the year before. Just like they probably will next year, unless things have changed. They know it probably won’t be a comfortable conversation; there’s too many things at play. But it’s time for a decision to be made again, and this is the anniversary of their first decision on the matter. So they meet, and talk, and decide. For one more year.
Today’s Holiday Monday Challenge: write that conversation.
*AS IT SHOULD BE.
**On a related note, if anyone in my neighbourhood is missing Pinkie Pie, she’s on my porch.