The Delightful Death Throes of Summer

One of the churches I drive by twice a day on my commute to and from Cookin’ School has a sign that reads "A Life Without Love Is Like A Year Without Summer." Every time I pass it, ten times or more a week, I find myself thinking "well, that doesn’t sound so bad."

I meant to post this earlier in the week, but school and work robbed me of the time to do so. It was on Tuesday, taking Wiley for a free-range (illegally off-leash) sunset walkies in a park right on the Hudson, that I felt it. Subtle, but undeniable. The air, while still warm (it had reached the upper 80s at midday, a few hours earlier) had the slightest edge to it. Not even a chill, just a sharpness that only comes with the decline of summer.

I looked around and noticed, sure enough, the explosion of green vegetation of the last couple months had ended. Everything was drooping, and I was able to see a few feet into the woods that, just a week ago, were walled off by brush and leaf.

Yay.

I don’t mind summer, in the same way I don’t mind preventive dental care. It has its purpose, and I can suffer through it without complaint. But I am delighted when it’s over.