This previous post may be slightly familiar to my long time blogging friends, the subject resonates in my heart, I’ve freshened it up, so it’s worth reading again.
For my newest blogging buddies I hope you enjoy the read.
Originally posted last summer… the changes in our weather make it the perfect time to share it again.
“Summer here is so fleeting… blink and she is gone through the door to meet up with Autumn.”
Mercurial, undependable, temperamental, feisty, and quirky.
She stays for a short while in our world, holding in her hands the glow from a sunset so beautiful it makes your heart skip a beat.
She is Summer, and as she whispers to you with a warm breath that blows away the clouds, you fall in love quickly and want her to stay forever.
Her time brings peerless skies so wide they feel like they must be made of pieces of a quilt seamed together to cover the earth.
She stands there promising days of never ending barefooted bliss, soft light cotton clothing that glides over skin, sandals, flip flops and outdoor fun on freshly cut green grass, blossoms in the hair.
Scent on the breeze, tart lemonade that lives forever in our memories.
A beauty, she has been revered, treasured, photographed, painted, written about, and sought after. We long to meet up with her in winter, we hope for a visit in spring, and her leaving us is lamented in Autumn as we pack away our summer things.
Summer is cold, crystalized ice cream treats wrapped in soggy paper, paid for with sticky coins held tightly in pudgy childhood fists, the first transactions of impending consumerism.
White boxy vans with colourful hunger inducing signage traverse the neighbourhoods, piping tinny music that is reflected nostalgically in parental eyes. The jarring sounds of a tinned polka cuts through walls and windows, floating down neat suburban streets, bouncing off of the hot pavement of water parks.
Children slip from their languid pools of heat puddled in front of TV’s, banging front doors shut, dashing off porches towards treats.
Popsicles stain their short, tanned legs like tattoos. Rivulets of sweet melted syrup, track, and map in the dust covered skin acquired from walking on golden sun bleached grass in bare summer hardened feet.
Summer is salty ocean waves white caps, and grey sandy beaches. Fresh water lakes filled with shiny trout sparkling in glimmers of sunlight that peer from underneath docks. It’s deep, green blue depths of scary water, learning to swim, float, and sinking like a stone.
She’s bare feet tangled in flip flops in the bottom of a roughly painted boat, long grasses swaying under water as you glide softly over them. Drops splashed from paddles skipped upon water fresh tasting on the lips, sun baked faded life jackets who’s musty smell wafts over the tropical fragrance of coconut suntan lotion.
Summer’s responsible for sprinklers spreading diamonds that cling onto branches in the backyard. First stolen kisses, giggles, sun soaked skin, and icy cold, sweating glass. Lanterns filled with citronella candles, plunked on picnic tables, chequered clothes, and homemade potato salad with pickles.
We measure her girth by degrees, while speaking of her with abandon, complaining when she is too intense, and wishing when she isn’t. Summer can burn you with the slightest touch, or caress you gently, and lull you into a soft nap in a cottage chair by the lake.
And then Summer pauses to take a breath, gather her remaining energy, and gives us it all with honesty, the breathtakingly vibrant sunsets, soft glowing dawns, and days of hot golden light, that slowly ease into cool nights, and relief from the heat.
When the scorching sun carries itself lower in the sky and the fruit trees are a laden with their bearings, gone is the harsh, bright shrillness of the early season, this is summer in her waning years, warm, wise, and wistful.
We know that she won’t be around forever, each moment savoured like a drop of honey spilling from the spoon. Sweetly etched on our heart the crunch of a home grown carrot, just pulled from the hot earth, the taste of fresh picked fruit, the singing of a bird at dusk. The sound of the light hitting the blossoms, as a camera captures their reflection.
With a slightly regretful glance over her shoulder she takes her leave. Emptying a space for us to usher in Autumn. Glancing back with a fond look, flitting in and out of our warm days, and cooling nights, she is blowing a kiss goodbye.
A short visit, never long enough, leaving us with gentle faded memories, tan lines, bug bites and bliss.
