The Last Day of Summer

The last day of summer is not when fall rains begin. No, it is that other day, that break in the rain after two weeks, that precious day of weaker rays, after the sun has skipped to its winter track and nights have turned cold.

When those first rains come, they are unbelievable and you can’t appreciate the sunshine that is interrupted because it seemed unstoppable. But after the rain, then you know the inescapable truth: that all good things must come to an end. (I used to hate it whenever my mother said that.) Change is afoot. Those endless, playful, carefree days of summer are done. A thunderbolt of realization travels to my core; it is the one moment out of the whole year when that unbidden thought slips in before I can stop it, “I may die.”

After the rains, that one clear day is a gift, an inestimable jewel, an unfathomable prize, a reprieve! Suddenly you find the time and energy to set all cares aside and play for one whole day. Okay, maybe you are tidying up the yard or putting the garden to bed. But you are damn sure going to open all the windows and spend the day outside!

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