Savoring Summer

Labor Day has come and gone, and before then a hailstorm was followed by the brisk, cool smell of autumn. As a result, a melancholy has settled in. Yes, autumn’s around the corner, but I haven’t finished with summer.

Last winter was long for me. It was only after a sufficient number of spring robin sightings, a long red line on the thermometer, pansies at the garden center, and the length of day assured me that summer was a reality, that songs began to rewind and play in my head: “It’s summertime, summertime, sum, sum, summertime”(The Jamies) and Nat King Cole’s “Roll out those lazy, hazy crazy days of summer.” When I was in a more sophisticated mood, Gershwin’s lyrics, “Summertime, an’ the livin’ is easy. Fish are jumpin’ an’ the cotton is high,” escaped my lips.

Ahh…summer. Just the word has a lot of delicious “mmmmmm” in it. I get a hankering for salad, and watermelon, fresh corn on the cob, and homemade strawberry shortcake.

And summer…the sight of it: yellow dots of dandelion, bluer than blue skies, white clouds that subliminally entice me to pile more whipped cream on that afore mentioned strawberry shortcake, flamingo sunsets crowning green countryside abundant with life, the black-on-white words of a good summer read accomplished while lazing in the hammock.

Ahh…summer, the smell of it: freshly mown grass, a late-night dinner sizzling on the grill, asphalt after the rain, a sun-warmed wild rose.

The sounds of summer: wind slipping through the trees, the first clap of thunder, the drone of a bee and click of a grasshopper, bird song for nearly twenty hours of the day, ice tumbling into a frosty glass.

And the touch of summer: a caressing breeze, sunshine so hot and brilliant on your face that with eyes closed a kaleidoscope of color plays out, the exhilaration of a plunge in cold water, bare feet in dewy, morning grass.

Perhaps, I am acting a bit like a petulant child, throwing a tantrum because I want these dog days of summer to linger a while longer. A wiser course of action might be to greet each day as it comes, to embrace the honey-tinged afternoons and the scarlet swathes creeping into the underbrush. Yes, maybe I will act my age and cease kicking and screaming. I will welcome autumn with open arms and an open mind. I will put no attention on the season-of-which-we-do-not-speak to follow. I’ll embrace autumn, be in awe of it.

But, I absolutely, unequivocally refuse to buy anything pumpkin until October, not even a tempting spiced latte!