The end of summer means different things to all of us. To me, it’s bittersweet.
My kids no longer have the days to stay in bed and lounge around. Homework fills my kitchen table.
I will no longer walk around in shorts and bare feet. I will constantly be cold and covered up.
The community swimming pool has been emptied. Our swim bags have been pushed to the back of the closets.
Evening summer walks are over. The sun sets too early for us to get outside after dinner.
My husband will drive to work in the dark and come home in the dark.
The leaves on the tops of the trees are starting to change. And I fear for another winter in Chicago.
The garage is cleaned to make room for two cars. My scraper reluctantly gets tossed into my trunk.
Families won’t be picnicking and children won’t be outdoors. The neighborhood will soon become quiet and homes will seem isolated.
Gardening excitement is gone. My annuals will soon die and the wildlife will disappear.
The vacation season is now behind us. Time to start thinking about hunkering down for a long winter.
My kids are now gone 7-8 hours a day. I have moments of peace, quiet, and clarity when they are gone.
Walks outside with my husband have to be done on weekends, but we’ll have milder temperatures and beautiful arrays of colors for a few short weeks in October.
Evenings are spent more often as a family, catching up on our days and watching favorite television programs together.
Weekends used to encompass yard work. Now my weekends revolve around family and football.
Insects are gone, the air seems crisp, clean, and will soon be silenced from the insulating snow.
The relatives I haven’t seen for months will be seen more frequently as the holiday season nears.
The little amounts of sun I do see, I gratefully soak up, like a puppy napping in the sun.
I cannot stop the seasons from changing. I can only adjust my attitude, so that I might survive another brutal winter and emerge from it wiser and more gracious for another summer.