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Summer Farwell




The mornings are darker now. Daily walks are quicker paced to warm my blood against the crisp air. Hot tea mugs become daily comforts cupped between my naked hands. September is a month of oddity. It seems to neither know if it should be hot or cool and the Bible verse of Revelation 14, "I wish you were either one or the other! So, because you are lukewarm — neither hot nor cold — I am about to spit you out of my mouth," sums up my thoughts about this month. September was the month I always forgot to recite as a kid as I counted all twelve on my fingers. When I got to December and and only arrived at eleven, the look of confusion can be blamed on faceless September. This year I'm determined to learn about this season of transition and open myself up to what it has to offer. Instead of holding out hope for October, the true start of Autumn in my mind, I must embrace this current month of unpredictable ups and downs. But first, I must let go of summer. And so it is with a bittersweet heart, I sit here writing my summer salutations.




This summer has treated me well. Bike ride meanderings through alleys, archways, picnic tables setups, to the top of the stadium parking lot, and up the same hill again just to feel the flying sensation of coasting back down. I think of kayak trips, and summer peaches, iced lemon water in mason jars and the voice that rings, "Let's jump off one more time," as Dustin glances towards the diving board. I think of foggy mornings where city buildings merge with clouds and harsh right angles become soft edges.

Summer is a season where permission is granted to let ourselves go a little, eat more ice cream than normal, stay out later than we should, let our toes see the light of day, and take off work just to play.




My heart aches a little when I realize that last pool day has already passed, and the plunging into the wavering, cold, blue as my heavy body instantly becomes light and weightless are gone until next year. The days are warm still, but the nights will find you in that funny combination of sweatshirts and flip flips or boots and tank tops, where both feel inappropriate but make sense nonetheless. I always wonder how confused we would look if a random photo was unearthed from a Cincinnati September and placed in the hands of a stranger. Just by clothing alone you can tell those holding onto Summer and those yearning for Fall.

So farewell beautiful Summer. Thank you for teaching me how precious and special you are because you do only come once a year. Thank you for nourishing my body with energy to prepare for the harvest and working months ahead. Let your light be lasting love on my heart in all days. Here's to making room for the metamorphosis of seasons.