The official season of summer, according to the calendar, is from June 20 until September 22, from the summer solstice until the fall equinox. Some view summer as the period that school is out. Here in Alabama, that’s late May until early August. If I go by temperatures and daylight, summer in Alabama is about May through September.
I am exquisitely attuned to the changing cycles of the rising and setting of the sun. I detest winter’s darkness, and I can feel it coming on even now as the mornings are coming later, and the nights are earlier. If it’s dark outside when I wake, I don’t know if it’s 3 AM or 6 AM. I hate looking at my clock, scared it won’t be time to get up, and I won’t be able to get back to sleep. It’s so much better to awaken without an alarm clock to summer’s morning light. The evenings are not as bad; I wind down anyway by 7 PM.
Summer itself is winding down. The excitement over its arrival has passed and been replaced for some by the excitement of the new school year. Though I no longer am subject to the rhythms of the school year, I still feel its effects—increased traffic, Friday football night madness in the air, my grandchildren starting their preschool adventures.
It’s late summer.
Summer flowers are leggy and fading, just look at the zinnias. The trees’ leaves are losing their brightness, and their green has lost some sheen. Blackberries and blueberries have completed their season. Boat traffic on the lake is down from early summer. The temperatures are not as excruciating, but the humidity is still palpably heavy.
But still…
Some sweet summer fruits continue to delight. I eat a fresh peach every day that I can, standing at the kitchen sink, the juice dripping down my chin. Why spend the time to peel and slice it? The bounty of heirloom tomatoes will linger through September, best eaten as a sandwich on white bread with mayonnaise and basil. Or else, like the peach, over the kitchen sink, my teeth stretching the skin until it gives way. Watermelon, cantaloupe, and plums are still abundant, as are the summer vegetables—corn, peas, squash, cucumbers, and more. The insects still start to sing in the late afternoon, and now I’m finding cicada shells on fence slats and concrete walls. The mosquitos still scream and whine in my ear. And bite. Birdsong still serenades my mornings. My lawn is still green.
And I’ll enjoy it while I can…
The berries of summer are gone, but I still have frozen blackberries and blueberries to sustain me over the next few months. Jumping into the lake is still refreshing, even if it feels like jumping into tepid bathwater. And my family is planning a last hoorah of summer at the lake, celebrating Labor Day, a birthday, and an anniversary.
So it’s still summer, but I can tell it’s winding down.
But why am I writing about this?
This time of year makes me a bit sad every time it rolls around, thinking that maybe I wasted my summer, and it’s almost over. Winter is still far off, but I can feel it coming in the cycle of daylight. And maybe it’s a reminder that I, too, am about two thirds of the way into my life. But my life isn’t wasted. In fact, just the opposite. Even if I do only have a third of my life yet to live, I will live it to the fullest that I am capable of.
I haven’t faded and it’s still summer. Snap out of it!