Well now, evrything dies, baby, that's a fact, but maybe evrything that dies someday comes back
What woke you up today? Was it the rustling tambourine of maple leaves slapping each other high five with those pointy little fingers of theirs? Or was it the familiar discourse and banter of morning birds gossiping about the advancement of their fledglings? Whatever distinguishable sound it was, it was a note that flowed from the mouth of Summer. Yes folks, if the spiking temperatures accompanied by humidity high enough to turn your raisins back into grapes and rehydrate beef jerky back into cattle did not give it away, let me please welcome in her grand radiance, the supermodel of the seasonal sisters, the undeniable, undefinable, but always reliable Summer. This is the time of the year we saved all Winter for, when the sun lets down its curlers and a shakes out rolling cascades of golden locks for us to play in. It’s barefoot, full bloom, no school, windows open, skipping work, thunder storming, drinking from a garden hose pure ecstasy. Summer scissor lifts our eyelids with brilliant morning rays and forces us to see how wonderful the world is, how everything has its season and every season its reason.
Summer arrives on the longest day of the year and every day after we have a little less daylight, reminding us things are finite but impressions are eternal. Summer is an enchanting story repeated and every year we get lost in it, forgetting with each word we walk on, the end of the sidewalk draws closer. We gang tackle Summer, consume it with a locus like voracity as we arise from hibernation, seeking sustenance even more so in a year like this when that period of dormancy seemed to last a little longer and the isolation was a little stronger than what we condition for.
Revel in Summer. Make hay if you can, go for a hike if you can’t. No longer confined by square footage, Summer is Winter’s inverse in that everywhere but our house is where we should be, live, work, play, enjoy, exist. Eat at a picnic table, sleep on a hammock, let the sun brew your iced tea and take one less meeting and one more stroll today. Summer is a party that once started, is already fleeting. Sleep with your windows open and let the birds be your alarm clock.
Put your makeup on, fix your hair up pretty, and meet me tonight in Atlantic City
-Jack
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