The last day of summer is today. Usually I’m sad, waving goodbye like a reluctant Girl Scout on the last day of sleepaway camp.
This year, though, summer was like one long, hot anxiety attack. At least for me it was. So I am welcoming the crisp mornings, greeting them with a scarf and steam rising off a hot cup of tea and honey. I am welcoming pumpkins and frost and the coming holidays spent with loved ones.I am welcoming cold nights full of piercing stars that my fevered brain can crawl in and rest among.
But that does not mean I don't appreciate Summer for what she was and what she gave. What she gave me was indeed a violent growing season, but a growing season nontheless.
And she gave me trees. Tall, endless trees who threw up their arms in vaulted Cathedral ceilings that I walked under. Trees whose righteous green leaves whistled in the breeze, swirling above me like a million tiny fans. Trees whose thick sap ran through like lifebood, which now stops and silently seal up the wounds caused by growing pains.