Know what I find most charming about this time of summer?
It's over.
Oh, heavens, don't get me wrong -- I absolutely love summer.
Love every minute of it!
But . . .
when it starts to wind down, and the days turn golden,
and the clouds set crisp against a china blue sky,
when the grass is shaggy and the flowerbeds raggedy around the edges --
that's when the elements of nature, after the enormous festival of summer fertility
finally
begin to relax.
The sun still warms my skin in the mornings. And evening falls more gently.
Whatever this summer was to be -- it has been.
Nothing remains to be planted or painted or climbed or conquered.
The pools have closed, and the neighborhood is quiet of an evening.
It is a time to revel in the spoils.
To cease the harvest.
To sit back with an iced-tea and gaze up.
To relish what the summer brought and make peace with what it lacked.
To realize, it was, in its own way, quite satisfactory.
The big to-do is over for another year,
and it is a singularly lovely time of no expectations.
Which leaves all the more room for simple
appreciation.
For savoring the one still remaining perfect blossom.
The arbor sagging beneath the weight of its vines.
Like that blessed silence after that last guest leaves the party
but the house remains draped in decorations.
Can you do it?
Give it up?
Find that waiting chair and rest in its arms?
Good.
I'll meet you there.
