It’s undeniable. The days are getting shorter. The sun is setting earlier and earlier. The evening air has a new chill to it. Photos of school supplies and first days of preschool are popping up on my feed.
Summer, my season, the best season, is almost over.
I’m not sure how to process the big feelings I have about the coming seasons. Every time I share these sentiments with someone they usually try to bolster me with thoughts about how pretty the changing seasons can be, how great fall is, and how winter can be a nice change of pace. Blah. Blah. Blah.
I do not feel bolstered.
I feel irritable.
I hate winter.
I hate the cold. I hate the gray-upon-gray-upon-gray days. I hate that when there isn’t snow, there is mud. I hate that the gray, muddy, depressing vista that stretches from November-April.
I hate that winter sweaters make you look fat while winter comfort food make you actually fat.
I can’t even take it.
Don’t try and tell me something nice about winter. At this point in my emotional downward spiral I’m libel to just throw something at your head. I’m sorry. I know that’s not nice. But these are the facts people. Consider yourself warned.
It’s been a lovely summer here in northeast Ohio. Just lovely. And thinking about it leaving me (Why summer, Whyyyy?) makes me want to sob buckets of tears. But I’m an adult and a mother so I’ve got to buck up and pull myself together. So instead of dwelling on the
impending doom incoming winter, I’m mustering all my creative/emotional/physical energy into dwelling on the here and now. And today is still August. Today is still summer.
These are the days for morning walks with my little girl. A special gift that I get to take advantage of with my husband home during the day to keep an eye on the boys while us girls spend some one on one time together. I can’t tell you how much I’ve cherished our walks this summer. Even on the days that will go on to be less than beautiful, all of our mornings have been clear and wonderful and I’ve enjoyed being out in them with my girl more than words can say.
These are the days for play dates in the sun. With bubbles and giggles and everyone a little bit sweaty and a lot happy.
These are the days for picnics. With blankets spread wide and shoes kicked off and half eaten everything thrown to the side because there is just so much to see and do.
These are the days for dinner outside. For the twitter of birds to be the chorus that accompanies our meal, our conversation, our enjoyment.
These are the days of impromptu trips. Of “hey what are you doing later tonight” texts to friends. Of meals thrown together with whatever we’ve got in the fridge. Of “That sounds lovely. We’ll meet you there.”
These are the days of local treasures. Of road side stands bursting with fresh produce, flowers, and honey – still warm from the sun.
These are the days for late nights with friends because no one wants to come in. No one wants to say goodbye.
These are the days for just one more bite, just one more scoop, just one more taste.
These are the days for checking off bucket list adventures. For seeing new sights. For taking new roads. For all day adventures.
These are the days for books devoured by the pool. For snack shack money and the smell of chlorine. For wet towels hung across the patio fence. The official colors of summer.
These are the days where where time stretches past it’s normal confines of day and night, and yet, somehow, still flies by. Where the days are simultaneously full and yet lazy. Where schedules are just suggestions and nothing is written in stone unless you want it to be and that’s ok too.
These are the days for sun. Glorrrrrrious sun. For heat and sunshine and sun kissed skin and color on your cheeks. For sundresses and sandals and light layers. These are the days for sunglasses – the bigger the better. (Oh sun. I love you.)
These are the days for windows rolled down, old summer classics cranked up. Way up.
These are the days for coffee on the back porch while the kids are still eating breakfast. For rosé sipped on the patio with friends, while a summer rains plays gently on the awning. For kombucha made with berries picked just a few hours earlier.
These are the days for adventure and silliness and fun. For sprinklers and popsicles and the stuff of childhood. These are the days for memories of when we were younger. These are the days we know our children will one day recall with fondness. These are the days full of light and love. These are the days full of heat and sound. These are the days full of nothing to do but read and cook and enjoy. These are the days for friends and family, new acquaintances and loved ones. These are the days for big trips and small pleasures. These are the days that we get to define. We get to fill – or empty. These are the days we come alive and come out to play.
These, my friends, are most certainly the days.