Tuesday, August 23, 2011
Going for a run last night I noticed that a few leaves have jumped the gun and begun to fall. I wanted to yell at them and say, "No. No. Summer hasn't even begun," knowing that I haven't had too much of a summer, other than stressing on a few items: writing, packing, moving, writing, settling, writing, revising, worrying, etc. And now...well, the leaves don't lie.
School buses are greasing up. Sport camps are back in session. Grass is turning brown. Hurricanes are beckoning. The Deck part is over. So, the time is coming to say so long to Summer.
I didn't get to appreciate it much.
Either way, I will listen to Ms. Joplin and think of philosophers who once said that Summer is the season of lies: its flowers, its warmth, its energy, its availability of more time to play. Instead, the falling leaves tell a more honest story of winter, the cold, darker days, and ice. Ah, but the cycle will bring spring around again and the promise of further lies.
Perhaps I prefer fiction, because the lies at least offer hope.