Summer's Almost Gone

Listen while you read:  Sorry

Summer's almost gone
Summer's almost gone
Almost gone, yeah, it's almost gone
Where will we be when the summer's gone?

Morning found us calmly unaware
Noon burned gold into our hair
At night, we swim the laughing sea
When summer's gone, where will we be?

Summer's almost gone
Summer's almost gone
We had some good times, but they're gone
The winter's coming on
Summer's almost gone

~ Jim Morrison (The Doors)

Well, that song's as short as . . . well, as short as summer. Back in 1968, most songs were short (with the notable exception of "In-A-Gadda-Da-Vida"). "Summer's Almost Gone" is on The Doors' third album, Waiting for the Sun.

I think the long weekend in Georgia delayed my fall allergy symptoms, but this morning, I woke up sneezing, and that was followed by the predictable itchy throat. The temperature outside was 55 degrees. And then, the deejay reminded me that Labor Day is coming up next weekend. Until today, I'd been calmly unaware.

I know what you're thinking. I'm retired and I winter in Florida, so what does it matter? Well, from the year I started kindergarten until the year my youngest graduated from college, whether as a student myself, a teacher, or a parent of school-age kids, I have been tied into the school year calendar. That's 59 years, people. I had five years of no September stress when I was a little one (we didn't have pre-school back in the day) and three years since my son finished college. Is it ever going to be possible to shake off that feeling of dread and anticipation as September nears?

I try to remind myself that for me, summer is not over, at least not until the autumnal equinox in late September. (Cue Rod Stewart: It's late September, and I really should be back in school.)  See? It's hard to let it go.

The five-day forecast calls for abundant sun and temps reaching the mid-70s. Nights will drop to 50 degrees. Here in my neck of the woods, a killing frost usually does not arrive until mid-October. But before then, there will be days of long pants, sweaters, and, oh dear, socks! (At least Birkenstocks will allow me to avoid the dreaded shoes!)

I think I should pay attention to my own meanderings in yesterday's post and welcome this upcoming change of season. I can fall in love with apple orchards and corduroy and pumpkin ale . . . at least for a couple of months. All I need to do is become awake.