It’s That Time of Year

It’s amazing what a little rain can do. Walking out the door this morning it finally feels like summer. The air is thick with moisture craving somewhere to go, and the breeze is just swift enough to keep it from being sticky. Days like today make me remember why I love summertime.

I leave the house expecting to smell sunscreen, and there is the inevitable smell of cheap plastic floatation devices to be used at the pool. These smells, coupled with the smell of fresh cut grass and gasoline or charcoal and burned hotdogs, are timeless, as are the sounds of sprinklers watering ever-parched backyards and the lawnmowers being used to cut them or the twinkle of lightning bugs as they try to evade capture at dusk. I know them; my parents know them. The kids down the street from me know them. Some things just never get old.

Summer mornings are my favorites. The day holds so much possibility. On cool summer mornings when the dew is still on the grass, the world is mine. I can do anything or nothing, and the air seems charged with anticipation. Generally by mid-day that sense of optimism has given way to that sun-tired feeling that unfailingly accompanies high temperatures. But at least I had it, and at least I know I’ll have it again the next day.

Whether I actually smell the smells or see the sights is irrelevant. I never really think about how etched into my memory they are until this day comes every year, and their possibility is enough for me. Today, for me, summer has actually begun.

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