The days until the start of school tick down. The evening comes sooner and dusk is shorter. Sun no longer pours through my bedroom window at 6 am. There are yellow leaves in the backyard, just a few, hiding away between the crowd of green, but they are there, just the same.
I can feel it.
The end of summer.
The days are still warm. The mosquitoes are still plentiful. The corn is still tall and rippling in the endless fields as we drive to the lake.
But it is still there.
The end of summer.
Summer ending makes me sad in a way nothing else really does. It is not the heartbreak of losing someone dear. It is not the twinge of sadness I get when I watch Finding Neverland. It is not the nearly crushing sadness that overcomes me when I'm sorting through boxes and find a picture of Bug or Monkey when they were just weeks, months old and I wonder where the time has gone and what did I do with it and how, why did I waste a second of it.
Summer ending is a diluted emotion compared to many of these. But real regardless. I feel some of the same ache that I wasted any of the sun laden days. That I will soon say good-bye to the hum of the evening insects, the rustle of the leaves, the glow of the fireflies, and the soft hush and ripple of the corn.
The season, that like so much of my life, I take for granted until it is gone.
I love fall with all the dynamics fall offers, everyday different. I can't help but smile when the first layer of quiet silver snow finally obscures the starkness of empty branches and bare ground. And I enjoy the energy and growth that each spring gives.
But summer...summer is my dearest friend.
Relaxed. Mellow. Good for me. Reassuring me that if I don't get to it today, it's okay, because it will still be there tomorrow. Tomorrow will still be warm, sunny, and happy.
But gradually, daily, I can feel it slipping away. My mind immediately jumps to fall, winter, spring. And now, even now, with the thick humid air still around me, I'm already looking forward to next summer.