This Could Be the Last Summer Day of the Year

Good Morning,

Today the temp is supposed to soar to 91 and yet it will be a different 91 than last month. The house is still cool, the humidity has finally dropped and it’s a gorgeous day. Today 91 doesn’t look like some­thing to be avoided… it’s almost a welcome refuge. One last soak in the hot tub before we turn to fall.

Why is summer the only season I pine about like this? In February, you don’t find me bundling up in my coat to go hang around in the slush and the grey crying “don’t leave me.” Nope at that time of year, even I am pawing throuugh my closet to see if I don’t have some­thing anything that isn’t black! And I love spring and fall as they explode into color. But as fall morphs into November rain, I don’t get excited. And still the best day of the year for me, at the digni­fied age of 56 is the first day the town pool opens!

I have this wonderful little porch on the back of the house I rent. It’s filled with cast­away summer porch furni­ture and covered with fabrics in shades of reds and pale yellows. It’s funky and sort of 50s, which is prob­ably when the porch was added on to the house. My view is into my landlord’s back yard, a view filtered by my gauzy yellow curtains and a couple pine trees. I can sit here in the morn­ings before the family stirs next door and imagine myself at a little lake cottage. This morning, for the second time this week, it’s completely quiet. The squir­rels and the jays must have dashed off for early service leaving me a tiny slice profound still­ness in which to contem­plate. Oops, there, the tree murmur started again.

It took me until late july to get the porch summer­ized this year. Life was inter­fering. But since then, I’ve sat out here, morning noon and night and written. Much of this website came into life on the porch. As it’s cooled in the morn­ings and evenings, I’ve wrapped myself in a blanket and kept writing.

I’m sure any day now, I’ll stir with new vigor and gasp with delight at the crisp air and changing leaves. But today, I’ll sit on this porch and revel in the quiet and the heat, bestir­ring myself only to make a lemonade and turn a page.

I hope you enjoy the day ahead. I hope you enjoy every day ahead. Might as well. It makes every­thing a lot more pleasant.

Ann

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