Thursday, September 2, 2010

Late Summer

Remember last year, when I was all bent out of shape over the winding down of the summer clock? I'm pleased to report that I'm moving along quite swimmingly with Mother Nature and the rest of the world. I've chosen to accept the cycles of the seasons, the progression of life, the natural order of the universe.

I'm like, totally Zen.

Minus the new-ageyness.

Summer, Version 2010.0, you were good to me.

Your days were hot, your night air thick.

You inspired picnics, jaunts, jigs, and yes, days on end where it was too smoldery outside to do anything but stay in and eat watermelon and pretend to disown the very notion of those cooped up winter months where we would rue the day that we didn't spend every hot second in the sun.

You were everything you promised to be, everything they say you are, in the books.

You brought us ice cream. And salsa.

(And what else is there, really?)

I will miss the showy side of you that commands our attention.

I will not miss him.

But Law, I will pine for your blooms. And your veggies.

I think it's ok to miss things. It's good, in fact. It keeps me fixed on the notion that life is never constant. It's always moving, and moving with it keeps the woozies to a minimum.

Very soon, I'll trade in my grey flip-flops, worn down to half of their former selves. I'll pull on my boots and ignore the nagging whisper of a late-summer cold hiding in the back of my throat. I'll relish your t-shirt-and-jeans air and the way your sun seems to change its hue, just a tinge.

I will not pretend that it is sweater season. It is not. I will not make stew or buy mums. Not just yet.

I will ride an imaginary bicycle built for five into your lavender evening light. You are a season all your own, Late Summer.

I'm all yours.