the death of summer
Labor Day and September 1st fell on the same day this year. Two rusty nails in summer's coffin. Two cold slaps to my face. Two ravens on a grey wall, watching their shadows grow longer.
It's still hot in the daytime, but the nights are getting colder.
No more wearing a wifebeater at 3AM to go buy ice cream. No more late-night drives with the windows rolled down. No more slipping on rocks while buck-ass naked in the Klickitat River. No more soft hum of the electric fan in the late morning as I decide whether to wake up or continue sleeping.
Back east as a kid, this is when school would soon be starting and I'd get that sick hole in my stomach knowing I'd have to wear a tie, sit at a hard wooden desk, and take notes about things I never cared about and would never remember.
Soon the "Holiday Season" will come, designed to temporarily distract everyone from the inescapable free-fall into winter's black pit.
I love summer when it's here, and I hate it when it leaves.
