All Hail the End of Summer

after the dog days

Standing over the sink eating the plum, letting the juice run down my arm and not caring, slowly closing my eyes as my teeth sink into the best day of its life.

Watering that Boston on the right side of the porch everyday to try to keep it breathing until October comes and it can come down and the lanterns can go up. But the foxtail in the courtyard is on its second year. That’s something.

Wearing the loose clothes — the ones that don’t touch — day after day and sometimes not getting dressed at all if I don’t leave the house, just please Lord don’t let this blouse stick to me at this cocktail party someone decided it was a good idea to have outside. I sure am glad I brought my fan.

Sleeping past usual.

Bare feet outside.

Don’t go back to school. I will miss you too much to breathe for weeks. My heart doesn’t know how to do that well enough.

A few days at the beach or a water park if there’s money in the coffers and everyone’s not too tired and hot to pack a bag.

My boy, of course the smartest, spending most of August in his bedroom living on a diet of lime popsicles, hard salami, and cheese. It’s too bright, it’s too warm, and even the swimming pool refuses to refresh.

These kinds of days are the ones that really give you understanding of a person. There isn’t as much to drown out noticing the twitches and sweetnesses we can easily miss. If you slow down enough, you can almost feel when another’s thoughts float up into the air, disappear, and something else catches their attention.

Water balloons.

Thunderstorms make my fillings tingle.

And rain on the tin roof of the sitooterie delights my ears.

Do kisses taste best on August 22?

I don’t know. Maybe it was just me.

Wish I had a really good piece of watermelon.

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Peace. Love.

A.