Last week I followed a school bus picking up children fir the first day of school..As I watched the kids all excited with their brand new backpacks, and the parents proudly taking pictures as the children waved from the bus steps, that familiar lump came to the back of my throat.. We are officially in the final stretch of summer..
I like the change of seasons, but none evoke the feelings of sorrow that come with the ending of summer.. Truly I could write a funeral dirge as I watch the first V of geese heading southward.. Sweet summertime..
As I waited behind the bus- I waxed thoughtful.. Where did this summer go? It was a good summer.. Made some memories I will remember for forever.. Like tubing the river with my sisters the day before Em’s shoulder surgery.. Enjoying Jul’s Jeep with the wind whipping thru my hair.. Meeting friends for ice cream.. A flying trip to GA.. The best barbecued chicken I ever tasted.. Good times..
And yet I have some regrets.. Like why didn’t I make it to the mountains more often.. Our bikes are patiently waiting for another trip to Bridgewater.. It seems a crying shame that I went canoeing more in February than I did in both July and August-because I went once in Feb.. Where did all those leisure evenings where I was going to sit beside the campfire go?
When I was in Guatemala, I lived with Valerie.. She had a wealth of poetry. One day she pulled up a poem, and when she read it to me, I got goosebumps. There we were in the land of eternal summertime, lamenting the farewell of our friend..
Mother cries when she reads this, because she thinks of it in terms of her life.. For all of us- each summer is a gift.. With no guarantees of more to follow..
So if you are like me and have a love affair with blue sky and sunshine.. This is for us..
Summer, my love. What’s this I hear about your leaving? It’s awfully early, isn’t it? You just got here.
We don’t have to kid each other, Summer. I knew when you came to town that you wouldn’t stay. You never have. And even though you haven’t yet said it to my face, I’ve heard the talk and seen the signs that tell me you’ve got your bags half-packed.
Just last week I saw the ferns turning brown and brittle. I saw the flower heads turned crisp and crackly. And I saw the fawns, their white spots nearly gone. I saw the wild berries; they were about reading for picking. I saw the squirrels and chipmunks too. They’ve got food on their minds, winter food. That tells me something that you haven’t.
Come on, love. Don’t try to con me. You kiss me with 90-degree heat during the day, and in the evening caress me with the 70s. But just before dawn, I awake and feel the restlessness in you, and the chill sets in.
You set this town on fire almost as soon as you arrived. You put the sidewalks to sizzling and the blacktop to bubbling. You had’em gasping, Summer, and that’s what it’s all about.
And you and me? We fried and we broiled, but sometimes we found the shade where the little creeks run, and we swatted flies and drank the last drop from every cool breeze.
I can’t tell you what to do, Summer. You’ve always gone your own way. But please, oh please, don’t go yet. Take me by the hand and walk with me some more. Tell me again how it was in the olden days and how it will be tomorrow in those places where I can’t see or know.
When nighttime comes, let’s hold each other close, just one more time. Let’s count the stars in your clear summer sky, and let’s listen to the music of eternity as it is played in the throats of frogs, loons, the leaves of trees and the instrumental strings of those who dream the sweetest dreams.
And if you must go, sweet Summer, and I know you must, then let me down easy. We will not be together as many times in the future as we have in the past. There have been more yesterdays than there will be tomorrows.
So stay with me……as long as you can.
Chopping season started this week
A Fresh Air Girl that we hadn’t heard from in 15 years showed up for a visit
To those of you who heard my very adamantly stated “opinionation” ( is that a word?) I know I said I would never.. But Deborah gave me a ride on our hiredman’s moped.. And I didn’t die.. She’s a good driver 🙂 So I guess I’m eating all my “DUI motorcycle” jokes..