In less than three hours summer will officially conclude for another year, though it’s been declining for several weeks. So it’s no coincidence that I started the pellet stove for the first time since May earlier this evening, or that the bottom of the season’s final ice cream carton is nearly visible. I’ll switch from iced coffees to hot cups now, and my breath in the mornings will begin to mimic October’s foggier version.
While I thoroughly enjoy and anticipate showy autumn, and admittedly treat summer as little more than a hot flash between June and October, this edition was different. Spring was cool and wet and lingered to our consternation, and then summer unraveled slowly and left without a sense of completion—it’s as though I’ve missed the ice cream man, again, and know with certainty he won’t be back.
Until next year. There’s the hope. Cross your fingers, breathe in decaying autumn scents, get out your camera when you feel warm and lazy, don’t slip on the ice, and start counting down the days until the heat returns.