soon be on it's way. Which in and of itself signals that summer is
over. Anytime you are reminded that something is about to end, you
are then living under the burden of that realization, consciously or
not. Making plans to get them in while there is still time. Or
critiquing your lack of efficiency of time use, before your epiphany.
Wow, can I use some more big words in there? I must acquiesce that
that is feasible.
Anyway, here's to the end of summer, the last run-up to autumnal
rituals that in themselves bring us to winter - a rounding up of goods
and foodstuffs, a battening down before the weather and our self-
imposed winter quarantines. I swear it was only a few weeks ago when
I could inhale that first summer shower, the kind that blends in with
the pavement and reminds you of a time when you didn't know or care
enough to come in out of the rain. A viciously vivid scent that makes
you stop mid-stride and take note. An old friend in your cerebral
cortex that never ages, and pops up by your kitchen window to say
"hullo! remember me? can you come out to play?", only to be rebuffed
by the mounting responsibilities of adulthood with an off-hand "maybe
later". The greater the distance, the greater the ease of that casual
dismissal until the words are no longer meant or felt.
For myself, I desire to play the role of grasshopper against the noble
ant. A necessary, vicarious martyr not to be followed but to be
watched and lighten the humors of those surrounding. Whether that
desire feeds into action...doubtful. But hopeful. For there is
always hope. Especially where there are sundresses.