My Summer in the Sun
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Tomorrow September takes the baton from August and with it, the summer dies. Although over the past couple of weeks this moment has been fore-shadowed with the furnace of high summer stepping aside gracefully for the careworn, mellow warmth of a year sliding into the golden slumber of autumn. I both love and hate this time of the year. The faint chill of early morning and lazy warmth of the afternoons have a comfortable feeling with the bittersweet knowledge that the chill of winter hangs just out of sight in the early morning mists. It seems but a mote in time since April, blustery and grey, gave way to the mild sunshine of early May, before flowering into the hazy days of June and July; so warm, that merely sitting still one could feel the pores dripping perspiration and the tickling trickling as it ran down one’s skin. Afternoons, too hot to do anything, so nothing was done, idling the time in the garden with a long drink, listening to the cicadas chirruping in the trees while feeling the moments slide by in indolent leisure. And so it goes, summer, my time, passes and I mourn that passing. Yet this year after three decades since I enjoyed the last one, I finally got my summer in the sun. Yes, I pause and look back wistfully for what has now gone, but I do so knowing that next year I’ll have another and another. That, after all, was one reason for escaping Blighty’s rain drenched shores. I can live with the snows of winter knowing this.
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