September creeps up on us each year, like the quiet tinny sound of a clock-radio playing an Eagles song, a song that you've heard many times but don't especially like, and the morning is fresh outside while you're still half-asleep and not sure if you're really hearing that mellow sort-of-lame song, and why is it playing in your head if it's not playing for real, and oh god it's actually playing for real, and you fumble around for the switch but the switch won't budge because we're not actually talking about an alarm clock, we're talking about the inevitable passing of time, so you can forget about snooze buttons. Take it easy.
And you set your bare feet onto the cold wooden floor to find that the summer is over. Wake up.
There were some good times. We made a trip to the Oregon coast, picked fruit, swam in some bodies of water, went camping (though only once), and enjoyed some shaved ice.
On the Fourth of July, we stood outside a concert venue where we could simultaneously hear the band playing, watch an old drunken man pantomime being onstage with the band, and also watch fireworks all at once. It was probably the most patriotic moment of my life.
I also used up an entire box of Band-Aids on various small injuries over the course of the season, which I think is an excellent measure of the amount of adventuring I've been squeezing in to these three glorious months. I may complain about the oppressive heat when it happens, but all in all, I do dearly love the summer.
So now Autumn will be crinkling merrily along, casting those yellows and oranges over our deciduous fellows, and sprinkling mulling spices and squash into our diets to prepare us for the onslaught and the shivers ahead. Shiver shiver.
For now, I'm catching rays like crazy while I still can.