Summer is fading. In some ways, it seems as though summer, at least the ones I remember as a kid—never arrived. You know the ones—full of friends, adventures—seemingly endless in duration.
I can always tell when summer begins getting antsy, commencing packing up the cottage,readying to return to wherever she goes until the following year in late May and early June. That’s when she’ll return for a few short visits, tidying up the seasonal digs, before arriving in glory in July. Then, if lucky, summer has a solid 6-8 week run, offering endless options and bliss.
With the release of another Farmers’ Almanac, local news directors all trotted out stock images and file video reminding us of last year’s snowy winter. If local TV news is anything, it is predictable. That was the big story for Monday.
Apparently, we’re in for a repeat of last winter and snow. So much for global warming in these parts.
Last night, I drove to Pine Point for an open water swim. It was my final prep for Sunday’s Challenge Americas Triathlon and this year’s Olympic-length effort. The beach was fogged in and the surf was rough. The mile swim was a tough one. I got banged around in the waves, wrapped in seaweed, and I lost track of some of my swim partners. Despite being reminded of the power of the sea, it was oddly peaceful just concentrating on my stroke, while occasionally looking up to site my course.
Despite the foggy conditions, standing on the beach, post-workout, peeling of my wetsuit, I soaked in the natural world and my surroundings. The twilight cool on my damp skin felt wonderful. I was tired from fighting the surf and even a little queasy from being bounced around. But I was in the moment, experiencing the world around me—not some virtual representation of it.
As I sit here, trying to produce a couple hundred words to meet another self-imposed blogging deadline, I am reminded that I didn’t dance enough with summer yet again this year. My plans for spending every other weekend at the ocean went unrealized. I never sat in a seat at Hadlock Field, drinking beer and marveling at the skills of future Red Sox prospects. I did get out on my bike and log enough miles on the pavement to be reminded by my balky right knee that I’m no runner.
And also reminded that with each passing summer not maximized, it gets crossed off my list of seasons remaining. I’ll never have them back.