Summer

has come a few hours here, a few there, but not this year all in one place, like a scattering of salt. So cool this year, some mornings outright cold, the corn asks if I’m kidding, crouches waist-high. And sunshine—not so much, a tonal phrasing I don’t hear in this place, and miss. Almost as much as I miss serious seasons, the sharply demarcated kind you can count on. More like eternal autumn. You start to think you deserve it, after awhile: Beautiful full summer yesterday, but we’re not to get two in succession, for our sins. Look, how did you get me started on the weather? Silly of you.  I repent. There are some benefits to living in a temperate zone. Warm enough for citrus trees to raise their flags all year long. The grapefruit on the one by our deck is the tastiest I ever expect to encounter, and we hold out hope for the lemon and the lime trees we planted by the driveway this year. Still, the jacket hangs always at the tip of its peg, kicking for attention. Eight years, and I haven’t grown used to it, continue to rage, rage against the waiting for the light, waiting impatiently for the predicted mellowness to kick in, my full-blossomed season reversed in the rear-view—now how did that happen? As they say right there in the prospectus, past performance is no guarantee of future returns, folks: You have to learn to endure or enjoy the world a day at a time, I suppose, as the path behind grows longer, the days shorter. Try each morning to be philosophical as you cast aside the curtain—that’s the spirit. As an editor of mine used to say, back when I sweated blood for a daily newspaper, “Some days you get the bear, some days the bear gets you,” the right sentiment, brother, though my kids are suddenly as tall as the corn and it’s Shakespeare I keep mumbling like a prayer over the rosary beads of the days: “Summer’s lease hath all too short a date, Summer’s lease hath all too short a date.”

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One Response to Summer

  1. MattScott says:

    Happy summer to you. It’s been spring all winter here in NYC.

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