Whatever your age, that is the exact number of summers you’ve seen die and disappear right before your eyes. Right about this time every year. These deaths are a perfectly natural part of our planet’s rhythms. But lets think about them a moment longer, because with all deaths something is disappearing in order to make room for something that is just now appearing.
Few of us like to see a summer go. Summer is what life ought to be. Fiercely proud of its grand splash of blues above and greens below. Summer is a palette of the most extraordinary colors and fragrances. A timeless time for gardens and beaches, picnics an hammocks, and when you were young a time for you and your huckleberry friends to play in it until the stars went to sleep.
How can you want to give summers up? Well, maybe for the magic of the approaching holidays. But other than these few outposts of festivity, you are now entering into a colder, darker frontier of time. Lazy dreaming and bare feet don’t belong to winter.
Nature’s annual ritual of slipping its lush summers into a the leaner months of winter is a testament to our need to let-go. Tenacity in life is a virtue, until it becomes a vice. The vice of holding fast to every habit, tradition, bias and pre-supposition we’ve ever learned. Humans cling to these like sailors to a raft. But sometimes — more times than we’d like to believe — we’re clutching on to floating deadwood that we’ve swum with far too long for our own safety.
What I hated most about relinquishing my boyhood summers was I was thereby letting loose of my favorite faiths…fantasies… games…pranks…summer loves. Oh, and immortality. Summers felt so good back then. Gentle and warm like beachsand oozing through my toes; safe and sure like treehouses hiding me from dangers.
Withe the death of each of my 80 summers I’ve reluctantly learned that safe-and-sure usually means getting ready more than simply getting down at the funeral…..
Filed under: Uncategorized