I'm sorry to tell you, I'm not ready. I'm just not ready for you.
Yes, I love the way you smell, your crisp, sweet air mixed with that wisp of woodsmoke. My walks along the river lately have been tinged with your mildewed aroma of freshly composting leaves, replaced by the end of August's heady sun-baked blackberries and dirt mixed with the green of lazy river.
As much as I love Halloween, Thanksgiving and Christmas, I haven't yet had my fill of warm sunny mornings and dinners on the deck watching the early evening sun kiss the tree tops. I never got to the pool, never went camping (like I swore to myself I would this year), never had my Pisgah picnic.
I'm not saying I wasted summer. I did park myself in the shade by the lake, book in hand, toting tiny picnic, watching sailboats and children play. I did drape myself over the porch loveseat and read until the huge swaying evergreens and quaking aspens stole my attention (and the swell in my heart). I made Grandma's dill pickles and froze half flats of blueberries. I listened to music at the Saturday Market and drank my favorite hot chai even when it was 90 degrees out. I took a few long drives and got back to Hood Canal.
But I still haven't had my fill of hanging clothes on the line, of fresh berries on my cereal, of walks in warm sunshine. I only went to one outdoor movie, only did one hike. I haven't had enough barbecues with just-picked corn, sliced garden heirlooms with basil and fresh mozzarella. I didn't go to the beach.
I even have a mini-bumper (porch pot) crop of tomatoes this year (first time ever) but they're still tiny and green. They're not even big enough to have fried and green yet.
I'm sorry but you'll just have to wait. Return the sun, please turn the thermostat back up until further notice and stop being in such a hurry. Chillax! We waited a VERY long time this spring for summer's arrival. Can't you give us just a little more of her wafting breezes and starry, starry nights?
Not Ready But Soon
Photography (c) Kirsten Steen