The cool night air drifts lazily through my wind, setting in motion the rhythm of the seasons. Tomorrow is the first real day of summer and I can tell by the white noise whir of the bedroom fan and the panting dog at my feet. It's sticky hot but not quite uncomfortable, not yet. In a few weeks I'll wet my hair just so I can sleep and remember the winter chill, wishing I could bundle up instead of down.
The summer perks are sweet though, watermelon smiles and sunburned noses, both red and promising the absence of sadness. Shoulders bare and hair streaked with sunlight, I plan out the long days and short nights with words and songs and laughter, bubbled forth like the churn of sea foam at my feet.
When I was younger, summer was a shut down. Three months of see-you-in-the-fall. Three months of books and beach and forgetting about the things I learned in math class. Three months of moving so slow it goes by too fast and suddenly September leers, mocking and greedy for minds and time. I'm not afraid of that anymore. No, we give up summer when we stop learning from thick hard bound books and start counting the forty hours and forty winks.
In my next life I'll be a bird, floating above the open sea and dreaming of nothing. In my next life, I'll remember all the things I had to give up to get here and be grateful for them as the soft sounds of your breath rock my gently like a ship in the bay. I'll think of all the ways I love you, and number them in the stars.