For all of the summer shenanigans that are coming to a close, most of use are crapping our pants-getting things ready for school and storing their fond memories of the season.
The sun is high, a hazy white-blue sky looms, as the leaves become crisp in preparation for their descent to the autumn ground. The lakes get colder; the rain seems more frequent and chilling; overflowing rivers and lakes sing in unison as they overcome their borders and chill those dwelling within.
The sun has baked the soil, moisture has been added reversing its effect; length of day by light, and time does this as well, apparent changing of the seasons becomes as present as spoken words to your ear. Hear it coming, but seldom care to agree, or take into account.
The Pinnacle of outside abundance is now; however, waxing and waning with the climate, and locale. Weather is turbulent, climate is a mother-in-law. The new divorcee of summer waits for the solace and silence of fall to bring good company and space.
While confined, open space is bliss; while in open space, confinement seems a humbling experience to the soul.
Days in the sun produce red-flesh, plump with vitamins and sensitivity. This flesh is taught to the point of tearing at the pores; hair follicles, singed to brittle wires on the forearm, stand vertically on the red surface while being accounted for. Avoid looking directly at the sun. No highlights in my hair just summer sun and sand, just weather.
Sand for miles.
Pardon me, sand that encompasses the circumference of the lake is now a part of me. No highlights, the weather has changed us all. Able to enjoy outside, able to smile.
Nights start late and never end early. Tan skin entices, even to the smell. Bars over flow with scantily clad patrons, beer flows, the tab grows, and a drowsy dehydrated morning ensues.
Thirst, the need for water is unavoidable and accepted. A glass of water is prescribed and administered. Part-time work is aloof and leaves one with empty pockets, and similar stomachs. The weather is nice, so poverty is less a distraction.
Bike trails are circuses of young and old, amateur and expert. Earth, wind, bodies of water, and flesh; all come and go in Minnesota, in Minneapolis.
Too many nights of festivities takes it toll on the body. Too much sun causes skin cancer; along with cigarettes, beer, and sex. The beach seems as if its moving father away as the sun does, naturally. The streets, crowded now, will become desolate with snow, ice, and dangerous wind-chills.
A trade of bikes and cars for salt and plows; ominous and foretelling of treachery. Love is attentive in the warmth of August and subsides in September, October, November, and December. January blows in and a new year is here to begin.
Pencils and books seem distant. A Mars landing in 2024 is just as relevant it may seem. Landing on the dusty planet, blowing dust off of the books, ah, they go hand in hand. School starts next week, and I wonder where summer went. I wonder if it was really here at all. School starts next week and I lack books, pencils, folders, notebooks and some ambition. I care for relaxation and drunken situations no more. I have to focus, as we all do. Life is here to happen.
I step forward into the unknown and I take a breath, look up at the receding sun and smile. Cold wind hits my face as I travel down the steps to the street and across the park. My day has just begun. Where did summer go?