September has always felt different from the other months.

Maybe because it doesn’t completely belong anywhere.

It is not really summer anymore, although summer is still around. And it is not quite autumn yet, although we can already feel autumn approaching.

September stands somewhere in between.

Like a bridge.

At one end of that bridge, summer is still waving goodbye. The afternoons can still be warm. The trees are mostly green. We can still sit outside and feel the sun on our faces. Sometimes, for a few hours, we can almost convince ourselves that nothing has changed.

But then morning comes.

We open the door and the air feels different.

A little cooler. A little fresher.

Maybe we need a light jacket for the first time in months. Maybe we notice one yellow leaf on a tree that was completely green only a few days ago. Maybe the evening arrives a little earlier than we expected.

Small things.

But September is made of small things.

It doesn’t announce the change loudly. It whispers it.

That is what I love about this month.

September doesn’t close the door on summer and immediately open another one to autumn. It gives us a hallway between the two. A little space where we can look backward and forward at the same time.

Behind us are the long summer evenings, vacations, open windows, ice cream, green trees, and days when darkness seemed reluctant to arrive.

Ahead of us are colourful leaves, cooler walks, sweaters, warm drinks, rainy afternoons, and all the beautiful little things that make autumn feel like autumn.

And here we are, somewhere between them.

Crossing the bridge.

I think life gives us many Septembers, even when the calendar says something else.

We are constantly standing between what was and what will be.

Between an ending and a beginning.

Between an old routine and a new one.

Between the person we used to be and the person we are slowly becoming.

We often want to rush through those places. We want certainty. We want to know where we are going. We want to reach the other side as quickly as possible.

But perhaps being in between is not something we need to escape.

Perhaps it is something we need.

A bridge is not a destination, but that doesn’t make it unimportant.

Without the bridge, we cannot reach the other side.

September reminds me of that.

It reminds me that change doesn’t always have to happen suddenly. Sometimes it arrives one degree at a time. One shorter evening. One cooler morning. One golden leaf.

Nature doesn’t wake up on September 1st and decide that summer is over.

It takes its time.

And maybe we should too.

There is something comforting about watching the seasons change slowly. It reminds us that we don’t always have to transform our lives overnight. We don’t need to have everything figured out before taking the next step.

Sometimes we simply need to keep walking.

I also think that is why September carries a strange mixture of feelings.

There is a little nostalgia in it because something beautiful is ending.

But there is excitement too, because something beautiful is beginning.

We can miss summer and still look forward to autumn.

We can be grateful for what is behind us without wishing to return to it.

We can welcome what is coming without rushing toward it.

Two feelings can exist together.

September understands that better than most months.

Perhaps that is why its light seems different. The sun is still warm, but softer somehow. The evenings feel quieter. The first changing leaves appear among thousands that are still green.

Summer hasn’t disappeared.

Autumn hasn’t completely arrived.

And for a short time, we get to have a little of both.

There is beauty in that temporary place.

Soon, the bridge will end.

The mornings will become colder. The green will slowly turn to yellow, orange, and red. Leaves will begin covering the sidewalks. Autumn will no longer be something we can sense approaching.

We will be standing inside it.

But I don’t want to hurry there.

I want to enjoy the crossing.

I want to notice the warm September afternoons and the cool September mornings. I want to watch the colours appear slowly. I want to see summer fading without treating its departure as something sad.

Because September reminds me that endings and beginnings don’t always stand on opposite sides of life.

Sometimes they meet.

Sometimes they overlap.

Sometimes there is a beautiful little bridge between them.

And maybe our job is not always to choose which side we belong to.

Maybe sometimes our job is simply to walk slowly across, look around, and appreciate the view.

I’m in no hurry to reach the other side.

GK

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Published by georgi.kisyov

30 thoughts on “The Bridge”

  1. I really like the picture of September as a bridge, Georgi. There is something peaceful about remembering that not every season of life has to be clearly defined while we are living through it. Some of the most important changes happen quietly, almost unnoticed, while we are simply putting one foot in front of the other. We may not yet be where we are going, but that does not make the crossing wasted time. Sometimes the bridge itself is where we learn to loosen our grip on what was, make room for what is coming, and notice the beauty God has placed right where we are.

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    1. This is such a beautiful reflection. I especially love the thought that the crossing itself is never wasted time. Sometimes we don’t recognize how much we are changing until we look back and see how far we’ve crossed. And yes, there is so much beauty to notice right where we are, even before we reach the other side.
      GK

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  2. How lovely is this!

    It isnt the bridge to nowhere…its an apreave a place to quietky breath take stalk accept. What was is no more but hasn’t become a distant memory as yet. That which is to come hasn’t arrived but is close and we can stand in anticiption welcoming the newness and change with appreciation. We have time to ready ourselves, live in the moment.

    Acceptance appreciation giving ourselves time to take it all in. Not rush headlong and miss the nuances that make us whole complete, enjoy the trip. Take on the newness of our existence like a cloak or coat, adjust how it sits, straighten the sleeves do up a couple of buttons become adjusted… so we are comfortable again. Like wearing a sweater or having one handy because that cool breeze might require one. Change is a constant a given inevitable not that we necessarily want one. Some apple hate Change. Thus is an opportunity to become one eith it, slowly at a pace we can accept, a breathing place.

    I think i fell in love with that bridge, more than ever before, Georgie. Ill remember thus always when I see thise calendar pictures of rare old covered bridges. Ty so much for this. A delightful charcoal painting, misty but colorful not too long not too short, just right for transition. Big hugs 🫂 love this. You make me want to run find a bridge simply to enjoy this moment.

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    1. What a beautiful reflection—thank you so much! I especially love your image of putting on a new coat slowly, adjusting the sleeves and buttons until it begins to feel comfortable. That really is what transition can be like: giving ourselves time to adjust instead of rushing toward what comes next. And I’m so happy that my September bridge will stay with you whenever you see one of those old covered bridges.
      GK

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  3. I hope many, many readers are able to read what I said: all of you who have four seasons, enjoy and embrace it, as Filipinos and other billions of people aren’t privilege to have it. Don’t forget to thank that millions or even billions of people wanted to experience it firsthand, but can’t because they can’t afford to do!

    Just imagine when you hate or dislike the season. You’re blessed because you have it.

    The September here is the first sign of Christmas season vibes.

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    1. Thank you for sharing your perspective! It’s a good reminder that seasons are experienced very differently around the world, and what feels ordinary to one person may feel very special to someone else. And I love that September brings the first Christmas feeling for you in the Philippines—that would definitely make September special for me too!
      GK

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    1. Thank you so much! There really is something wonderful about those first crisp mornings after the heavy summer humidity finally disappears. And I agree—the new school year adds another kind of fresh beginning to September, making that feeling of transition even stronger. Enjoy those beautiful walks and bike rides!
      GK

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    1. Thank you so much! I think we do too. We’re often so focused on reaching the other side that we forget there may be something important to experience while we’re still crossing. Maybe our own Septembers deserve a little more patience.
      GK

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    1. Thank you so much! I’m really happy you’re enjoying these seasonal reflections. There’s something about each season that gives us a different way to look at life, and I love sharing those little thoughts along the way.
      GK

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    1. Thank you so much! I love that you gave the bridge another direction—every seasonal crossing can lead us somewhere different. And if yours is taking you from spring into summer, I definitely hope there are plenty of shady trees along the way!
      GK

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  10. “Sometimes it arrives one degree at a time. One shorter evening. One cooler morning. One golden leaf.”

    “Because September reminds me that endings and beginnings don’t always stand on opposite sides of life. Sometimes they meet. Sometimes they overlap.”
    Well said! This post describes Sep perfectly!

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    1. Thank you so much, Rosie! I’m especially happy those lines stayed with you. September really does seem to show us how an ending and a beginning can exist together, quietly overlapping for a little while. I’m so glad you felt the post captured the month so well!
      GK

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    1. I love how you described that—the light and air really do seem to soften before the temperature even changes. And yes, September gives us that first gentle feeling that we’re entering the final stretch of the year, without rushing us there.
      GK

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  12. “But September is made of small things.

    It doesn’t announce the change loudly. It whispers it.

    That is what I love about this month” … beautifully put Georgi … Thank you.

    It’s the oft unnoticed, unhurried ‘small’ things in life that quietly bridge the gap between the ‘big’ things shouting for our attention.
    Be blessed my friend, and …

    Keep Looking Up ^™… His Best is Yet to Come!

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    1. Thank you so much, my friend! I love how you put that—the small, unhurried things quietly bridging the space between all the big things demanding our attention. Perhaps that’s why we need to slow down sometimes, so those little moments don’t pass unnoticed. Wishing you many blessings too!
      GK

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  14. Georgi, your description of September as a bridge between summer and autumn stayed with me, especially because of what I happened to be watching at the time.

    I was watching the movie On the Sea, a story centered on Jack, a mussel harvester in remote North Wales. Jack is living a life shaped by tradition, family expectations and a very particular idea of what a man is supposed to be. His son is resisting the family trade, and the arrival of a new deckhand begins stirring emotions in Jack that he has spent much of his life keeping buried.

    As I watched it, your words about September suddenly took on another meaning for me.

    September does not completely belong to summer, but it has not yet surrendered itself to autumn either. It exists somewhere in between.

    And so does Jack.

    He is standing on a bridge between the man he has always presented to the world and the man he is slowly beginning to understand himself to be.

    That was what made your story so important to what I was watching.

    Coming to terms with one’s identity does not always happen with a great announcement or one dramatic moment. Sometimes it happens exactly as you described the coming of autumn.

    The air changes slightly.

    One leaf begins to turn.

    The evenings arrive a little earlier.

    Something feels different before we can even explain what has changed.

    For Jack, the change begins quietly too. Masculinity, attraction, desire, family, responsibility and the hidden parts of himself begin colliding. He cannot simply walk out of summer and suddenly arrive in autumn. He has to live for a while in that uncomfortable space between the two.

    I think many of us understand that bridge.

    There are times in life when we are no longer completely the person we once believed ourselves to be, but we have not yet found the courage, words or understanding to become the person waiting on the other side.

    That is why your September story struck me so deeply while I was watching this film.

    September is not simply a month between two seasons.

    Sometimes September is us.

    It is that moment when we know change has begun, even though we do not yet know exactly where it will take us.

    And perhaps the hardest part of becoming ourselves is simply having the courage to keep walking across the bridge.

    The changing of the seasons is a very clear process to doing that. Even though it is difficult to do. Please know if you are attempting to do so, there is a huge family waiting to accept you for who you are regardless of your circumstance. Please direct anyone struggling to find themself to benandsteve.com and we’ll direct you to a resource or outreach organization in your area. Thank you Georgi!

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    1. Thank you so much for taking my September bridge and carrying it into such a thoughtful reflection. I never imagined this post beside Jack’s story in *On the Sea*, but I can completely understand why the two met for you.
      What stayed with me most in your words is the idea that sometimes we know something inside us is changing before we have the words to explain it. That is exactly what September does—the change begins quietly, and only later do we realize how far we have travelled.
      And perhaps that is why the bridge matters so much. We don’t have to know exactly who we will be when we reach the other side. We are allowed to spend some time in between, understanding ourselves, finding our words, and taking the next step when we are ready.
      Thank you also for ending your reflection by reminding people that they do not have to make that crossing alone. I’m truly touched that something I wrote about the changing seasons found another meaning for you while you were watching this film.
      GK

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