I hate when summer ends and school starts. Truth be told I hate all transitions. I used to love September as a kid … the fresh notebooks, the smell of the paper, and all those new colorful pens and pencils. I was filled with a sweet anticipation, a wonderful sense of possibility. But then I came to middle age. Now I think about how many more summers I will get. Thirty-five? So, thirty-four left to go. They are precious and I don’t want to miss a minute of them. I want to soak up the green and inhale grass a few more times. One more swim across the pond would be really really good.
I start grieving summer sometime in mid-August when it is still hot and seems silly to be lamenting already. But yesterday I saw a red leaf on our lawn right next to the badminton court. Now there are Maples everywhere but they look real and fully green to me. It must be that they are turning way up high where I cannot see. This was one beautiful perfect red leaf. It made me cry.
The good part is that now I no longer have to worry about forgetting to get down to an acceptable swimsuit size this summer. I apparently forgot to do that this year.
And then yesterday we took the teenager to school and I had to look at all these bursting teenage girls in shorts that wouldn’t fit my cat.
Soon they will be wrapped up in bulky sweaters so that anyway is something I can look forward to.