Hello Reader,

This is the last Saturday of summer in the northern hemisphere.

That's not a mood, it's astronomy. Fall arrives Tuesday at a few minutes past five in the afternoon here on the west coast. The equinox is precise like that, down to the minute. The season won't linger for a long weekend or wait for a ceremony. It will cross a line in the sky while most of us are mid-errand, and by dinner the light will belong to autumn.

Two weeks ago I wrote about how this September gave us the latest possible start, with Labour Day stretching all the way to the 7th while the whole world waited for the gun. Now look at what the season's actual ending gets by comparison. No barbecue. No fireworks. Nobody says "happy last day of summer" on a Tuesday.

Beginnings get ceremonies. Endings mostly just happen.

And most of the endings in a life happen this way. The last time you carried your kid up the stairs. The final visit to a place before it changed. The closing stretch of a season of work. Almost none of them announce themselves. We find out something was an ending later, from the far side, doing the math backwards.

The equinox is the rare exception: an ending that publishes its schedule. We know the minute. Which makes this weekend a small gift, if you want it. A chance to be present for a conclusion instead of discovering it afterward.

So do one summer thing on purpose before Tuesday. Eat dinner outside. Take the walk you kept postponing. Get near water if you can. Not to wring one more drop out of the season, but to be there when something ends. For once, on purpose.

The Final Flicker

Beginnings get fireworks. Endings get a Tuesday afternoon. Be there for this one anyway.

See you later,
Mike

P.S. Being there on purpose is more or less the whole book. Productiveness is out now.​

Thanks for reading. Your time is valuable, and I don’t take it for granted. In a world pulling us in all directions, thanks for choosing The Lantern.