Every summer when I return from Rhode Island, I find myself in the doldrums between summer vacation and the new school year. I already feel nostalgia for the easy, simple days that haven’t yet gone and a lingering anticipation for all to come. In early August, I cling to what’s left of summer, of leisurely mornings and porch sits and reading books blithely without anything else I have to do.
I try to root myself in the present, soaking up the final slow days that are mine. I start each day taking Cleo on an early walk, the sun waking in the sky. I make a cup of tea, sit and listen to the cicadas’ emerging song. I write or read or even take a dip in a nearby pool. I eat lunch (and dinner) on the patio and spend the afternoon reading for pleasure in the hot air. At the day’s close, I watch the sun drop, the sky coated in orange and purple and then drenched in deep blue. My sleep is sound.
The August days roll forward, moving us from the carefree summer to the chilly autumn. Soon, I’ll be at school again, teaching. We’ll get back into a structured routine. It always comes fast.
But for now, I’ll spend these final summer days just enjoying them, knowing that the season will come again every June.
P.S. Easing into a new season.
