I made a quick trip to the grocery store this morning for a few necessities. When I turned to head down the “summer” aisle, this is what I saw. All summer stuff was clearance at 70% off. The ominous blue sign was hanging from the ceiling and the obligatory boxes on the floor held pencils and folders and glue and scissors and loose leaf paper and dread, for kids, anyway.
Wait…summer is over? It is only July 14. I haven’t even had on a swimsuit (not that I want to.) I haven’t yet been to a body of water (except the one in my clogged bathtub.) I haven’t had grilled chicken or made s’mores or been fishing or gone camping or received a sunburn.
Later in the day I stopped by another store to pick up some candles and they had fall foliage and all things autumn on the shelves. I wanted to protest but when you are 60 years old and protest about something, you just look old and cranky. So I let out a big sigh and found my candles.
Tonight I heard the quintessential loud summer melody of crickets mixed with the low hum of cicadas. It is that sound that often accompanies humidity, mosquitoes and lightening bugs. But tonight it had a sad note, like an end of summer reprise, like a swan song.
Summer is actually not my favorite season. I do not love the heat, I do not love the constant yard work and weeding and flower watering. I do not love the schedule of long days and irregularity and people out of town. I enjoy the consistency of fall and winter.
But I also do not love the idea of rushing a season. It is not time for school. It is not time for wool sweaters. It is not time for gold mums and orange pumpkins. I will love those things when it is their time. But it is not yet their time and I do not want to be told otherwise.
There ya go.