Summer's End

Sometimes I wish summer would never end. 

I love hot, sunny days, 

even if it means dusty baseball caps and eating a little too much ice cream. 

Okay... or a lot.

I relish waking up to a beautiful sunrise,

and savor how lazily the sun leaves behind 

a hushed, balmy summer evening.

I also love when 
when the sky turns a menacing black, 
blowing in like a gigantic,  terrifying pirate ship 
plundering a friendly little sailboat.


(This is what I'm bravely imagining as I press my nose up against the window, safely inside.)

And the flowers. 

Oh my heavens, the flowers.

Fields of wildflowers, growing effortlessly.

Wildflowers inspire me to be more carefree and trust in the ancient ways of Mother Nature, even though I'm much more prone to the qualities of a rose: colorful and multi-layered but way too fussy and a magnet for every insect imaginable.

Of course, there are other times when I can't wait to get going on all of those things-you-don't-bother-to-do-over-summer-vacation-because-your-brain-is-stuck-in-sipping-lemonade-from-a-hammock-mode. And it's times like these when I'm kind off ready for summer to go away.

But then, as I do every year come Labor Day Weekend, I realize that Mother Nature really doesn't care what I want anyway and plunges ahead with fall.

I suppose I'm kind of glad Mother Nature is in charge; if it were up to me I'd miss out on way too many seasons.

And I'd be one giant bug bite.