So... as much as I don't want to admit it... summer is slowly but surely coming to an end here in South Boston. The sun no longer stays high in the sky all evening. There's a chill in the breeze that blows off the harbor. My beloved, ferocious July thunderstorms have been replaced with mild patches of rain here and there, and autumn camping plans are close on the horizon. Mike starts his fifth year of grad school in a few weeks and I am already prepping for the holiday rush. Labor Day will mark nine (nine!) years since I was 18 and packed up my little car and drove myself 3,500 miles to a little college town called Amherst. The years have been so full and so fast.
One of my favorite things about New England is the abrupt and distinct changes in the seasons. Autumn has a celebratory crispness to it, winter promises heaps of snow and coziness, spring's sunlight welcomes the rediscovery of the outdoors, and summer, for me, has always meant freedom. Hot, laaaazy freedom, an appreciation for outdoor spontaneity and longer golden hours, a season of "what if" and "let's go". Summer is the Kerouac of seasons, the torn and dog eared book you can't throw out, the favorite song that brings you right back to the first time you heard it, feet tapping on the dashboard or making smudge marks on the window. It's my favorite.
Every season has its own particular lovable aspects. On a bike ride down to the harbor last week, I began to think about mine and that became a poem which landed itself on Day 11 of my 30 day painting challenge, along with a photo I took and a feather I found on that bike ride.
(an untitled ode to the end of summer)
its about bike rides on hot concrete
onto beach grass
onto sand dunes
waking up to the hazy sun
staying up with the wayward moon
its about packing a book and watching the clouds instead
and watching birds
and making a field or a rooftop your bed
its about a long road and an empty notebook
a tangle of wildflowers waiting for rain
the gift of a hot day coming to an end
the sigh of a summer doing the same