It happened almost overnight, conversations change from how beautiful summer is, and how long we have waited for it, to how almost unbearably hot it is.
Quickly followed by “lets not complain, sooner than we know it it will be winter.”
We are only finishing up the first bit of August, and around here the conversations has already switched to winter. Winter when the only thing touching your cheek is a snowflake, not a biting bug. When your morning depends on how your snowy drive to work goes not how long it took to water the veggies. Winter when we measure the temperature in inches of white stuff covering the ground, not in how many zucchini we have to give away.
Why do we do that? I know the nights are heavy with heat, and the days like a open oven, but where is the magical marker that says let’s move two seasons ahead and look towards the hardest season of the year.
What happened to living in the sweet, sweaty, sticky moment sipping a cool tall glass of ice tea?
I have no idea, but I will admit as I slither up the back porch, hot, humid, dirty, and bug bitten….that I dream of snow.
Yes the white stuff…lots of it falling on my sunburnt shoulders, covering wasp nests, drowning mosquitoes…masking the weeds, cloaking the now golden grass, and keeping the pollen counts down to a less toxic level…but I only dream of it for a second. Really, truly…
Because deep in the heart of winter, I dream of summer, of new growth, fresh greens, life renewed, and golden days that glitter, and shimmer with heat. Of coral sunsets, and sky blue ceilings that have no end.
In winter that makes me shiver a little less…
In summer it cools me down…and it makes me appreciate what I have right now.