The above is of course Bill Shakespeare, Sonnet 18.

I’ve been reflecting that summer is perhaps my favorite season and worthy of celebration. Summer typically commences with traditional 4th of July gatherings and wraps up with the now rapidly approaching Labor Day weekend. In the meantime, plenty of smaller celebrations, none of which are noted on a calendar, occur. Barbecues, pool parties, frozen yogurt runs, vacations, road trips, camp outs, game nights, sitting on porches on warm evenings, etc. These rituals are informal and subtle, but they powerfully induct me into the experience and observance which is summertime.

I learned this summer that play is just as important as work and that I never need to apologize for periods of rest and inactivity. I learned that when things move slower, as they typically do during the summer months, I see my friends and family more often and we all have more time to just sit around and chat. I’ve learned that, for mysterious reasons, some burning wood in a hole in the ground is reason enough for people to sit in a circle for hours. It’s an event in and of itself really –inspires all sorts of food, fun and conversation– and it works in the backyard as well as at the beach. I’ve learned that ants will come by the thousands just to lick one sticky knife I forgot to wash. I’ve learned that I never have to make excuses for reading ‘non-intellectual’ things. I’ve learned that most people don’t change much, that old things always come back around, and that things I thought I should worry about are best left alone, becuase there’s only so much you can do, and it’s probably less than you think. I’ve learned that its really easy to try too hard, and most often more helpful to relax and enjoy my day.

Anyway, apologies for all that. It appears the season of summer may also be responsible for making me sound like the cliche remarks most often found scrawled inside the cover of a yearbook, but that may be appropriate. I always get a bit wistful and reminiscent towards the end of the summer, as it is one of the few things in life I’m always certain will pass, but am ever hoping that perhaps, just maybe, this year it won’t.

This entry was posted on Sunday, August 27th, 2006 at 7:00 pm and is filed under From the nation of Indig. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.