Summer is over.

Summer has given me so many things – essays completed, beach barbecues, walking home while the sun is setting. It has burned me through work windows, and warmed me through breaks. Summer saw me to California, where I did things not possible in a cold British winter. As the months turn to sunshine, as I feel the heat on my skin in mid-May – I feel myself thaw and come back to life. I can drink outside, see a friend, wake freely. I have many favourite summers, and they are as vivid to me as what I can see today. I see hills, mountains, the Angeles forest. Hiking with friends and driving at sunset. I see bonfires, beach walks, camping in fields. But what I haven’t is a single favourite winter. They pass slowly, they appear grey. Where my summers are a pastel hue with bright greens and blues, my winters are nothing. They are drinking at work until 7am, waking at 5pm, never seeing the sun. They are working hard without reward, missed connections with friends. Wet shoes and ruined days. I have so many summers I hold so dear to me, and I ruminate on them constantly until they come back round again.

It is September now, and I will be thinking about this summer until the leaves turn green again. I can feel the air turning wet, the leaves brown. Leave me here in bed until it is May; until the colours come back.


1 Comment

Filed under Writing

One response to “19.

  1. Nicely put. This is exactly the way it seems at this time of year.

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