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Editorial
Summer’s promise, drifting
away
Last weekend I pursued one of my favorite activities — swinging
on my back porch swing, gazing at trees — even more intently than
usual. I was trying to make summer last.
Summer means many wonderful things, of course, including the hum of crickets,
the scent of honeysuckle at dusk, the play of sunlight on leaves and July’s
endless shades of green. It means dinners of only fresh tomatoes, deciding
that flip-flops are appropriate for every occasion, and picking berries
for breakfast. It’s the feeling that, even when I’m at work
all day, I’m still on vacation.
More than anything else, though, summer means time. It means days that
go on forever. Summer’s the time I laze about, stare at the sky,
watch reruns of Sex and the City. And those endless days promise more,
that somehow life as I know it will never change, that the ones I love
— and me! — will never grow old, never die. At the beginning
of summer it’s the glorious feeling — haven’t we all
felt this, since we were kids? — that I have all the time in the
world.
And now it’s September. Of course, autumn brings its own pleasures,
the crunch of leaves underfoot, the scent of bonfires, the feel of my
favorite sweater, and the astonishing vision of trees turning red. But
none of these pleasures have to do with slowing down time. Rather, in
autumn, time sprints. Pretty soon we’re on a fast train to Christmas,
the days hurtling by. I’m reminded: this is how whole years vanish.
As summer turns into fall I’ll miss wearing flip-flops all day every
day, eating tomatoes nonstop and gazing at leaves in my yard. But most
of all I’ll miss believing, even if for just a short while, that
I have all the time in the world.
—Diane Chiddister
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