Today is the last day of September, and I'm happy and relieved to see it go. I've been holding my breath. September is a violent month. That may seem like a ridiculous thing to say, but I think there's some truth in it. Something about the end of the summer and the abrupt change to the fall causes some trauma. A lot of pent-up energy on the planet. September is hurricane season, and this one has been particularly bad. A year ago yesterday, my wife's parents were hit by a truck while crossing the street. The accident happened at 7pm, which in September, in Boston, is dark -- a time of day when it wasn't dark just a few weeks earlier. My mother-in-law spent 4 months in the hospital, most of that with her skull partially removed to relieve the swelling and hopefully stave off extensive` brain damage. A year ago today we were in a state of full shell-shock. In the past year, she has had a miraculous recovery, and this month she actually went back to work. She's driving, and taking care of herself. If you didn't know her and didn't know about the accident, you'd never suspect anything happened. It's amazing really. The doctors have been in awe of the recovery. We're so thankful. And so exhausted and traumatized from the past year. And we've been walking on eggshells all month, feeling the season change -- the air getting crisper, the night coming earlier. Feeling the feelings we felt last year at this time, and having this unconscious expectation of impending doom. I'm knocking on wood as I write this, that we've made it through. It's also Yom Kippur today -- the day of atonement, the holiest day of the year, and the end of the high holidays. A time to turn the page, look back at the last year, reflect on our actions, and look forward to the new year. I like that. I've always liked formal turning points; somehow they make it easier to find some clarity amidst the mess. I guess I don't really have a point to this post, except to point out the change in the air, and wish everyone the best as they navigate the coming season.