In the mornings when I walk Zelda, the air is ever so slightly cooler, crisper. (Don't get me wrong; I do live in Charleston where it stays pretty warm most of the time, regardless of the season.) But the skies are ever so slightly bluer as they march towards the October blue that I know and love and that I hope will always remind me of college. The roads are sprinkled with yellow school buses, and every afternoon the field beside my house is filled with little boys running around at peewee football practice. The field is crowded not only with little boys in football helmets, but also with coaching dads, cheering moms, and a few bored or jealous siblings. I can hear all of this from inside my house, and when Zelda and I go outside for a walk, she instinctively pulls me to the field where she promptly stretches out in the grass and sits, mesmerized, taking in all of the action. Without a leash to tether her, I have no doubt that she would run straight to the quarterback, likely tripping a few little boys along the way.
The outward signs of change are here, no doubt: cooler air, warmer colors, louder children. But I often wonder if we'd still feel the seasons change even without our senses. In other words, if we could not smell, see, hear, taste, or touch, would our bodies still recognize the seasons changing? I think so. I think these things are just fixed inside us, and we'd know that fall was right around the corner the same way we know to go to sleep when we are tired.
Of all the season changes, I have to say that winter to spring is my favorite, but summer to fall is a pretty close second. It's something about the way the light hits the walls in my house and the way I seem to accomplish more when fall arrives. Perhaps it's the optimism of every new school year; in many ways, I think a new school year brings about more change in us than does a new calendar year, or at least it seems to do so in me.
But before all of this change sweeps me away into the season of colored leaves, hot tea, blue jeans, and football games, let me be nostalgic for a minute and give thanks for a wonderful summer, a summer that has one foot out the door but which I am not willing to let go of just yet.
What will I remember about this summer? How will I describe it? Well, I think I'll remember the bike rides, the creek swims, the days spent eating Cheetos on the beach, and the activity-packed Saturdays that resulted in much earlier bedtimes than I'd like to admit (as well as some lengthy blog posts). I'll remember our last-minute getaways, evenings with friends, and maybe even those red peppers I grew in a pot. And because I took a lot of pictures, I'm sure I'll remember even more. Like that light fixture installation, a weekend of dogs, and some delicious home-cooked meals. Speaking of all of those pictures, how about a never-before-seen, this-summer-was-really-fun picture montage? You think one of those is in order? Yeah, me too. So consider yourself warned.
Thank you, summer, for the wonderful memories. We'll look forward to seeing you again next year.
And now, fall, bring on your blue skies and cool breezes. My linen suits are packed away, and my teapot is ready to whistle!
What will you miss about summer, and what are you looking forward to about fall?