Rain in the morning, a high wind stirs the oaks. Leaves fall fast as drops.
For two weeks summer has been a birthright I’ve pretended will never end. Each day balmy and placid, each night a symphony of katydid and cricket chirps.
Today, maybe more of the same, if the rain behaves itself, stays tropical and warm, doesn’t veer into a chill autumn drizzle.
I know it’s only a matter of time before the illusion ends. But I’ll take it as long as I can.
A chill in the air this morning reminds me that we’re closing in on fall — without really having had summer. A few days of weather in the upper 90s, but for the most part relatively cool and rainy.
Most people rejoice. They say we’ve lucked out. But if you love the summer and don’t mind the heat, coming to this point in the year with a brisk wind and low humidity feels like cheating.
Where are those long langourous afternoons? The scent of the water as it flows from the hose? The long hot walks down the Mall?
Maybe they’re in the future. If not, they’re in memory. Meanwhile, there are still black-eyed susans and sitting on the deck at noon, a human solar cell, storing up heat for the winter to come.
The monsoon season has led directly to the heat wave season. We did not pass “Go.” We did not collect $200. It was a harsh transition.
But I don’t mind. The heat warnings and Code Oranges roll right past me. It’s the middle of July. It’s supposed to be hot!
So I keep walking, keep eating dinner on the deck, keep bouncing on the trampoline (those last two in the evening, when it’s “only” 90). I’m lucky. I work in an air-conditioned office, sleep in an air-conditioned house. I’m dabbling in summer.
Still, it’s nice to have it here.
This time last year we’d had plenty of heat advisories plus a derecho. This year it’s been cool and soggy. I haven’t watered the plants once!
But the humidity is building and mornings hold that familiar sigh of longing, as if they know what’s coming and are reluctant to let go of their coolness.
They, like us, know that July is finally here.
Linger on paths, on beaches and on slopes. Soak in all sunlight, turn not a ray away. It’s the day we have longed for since Christmas. The longest day.
I plan to spend mine on the deck. The work will be done, but al fresco.
Plus, in the current living room configuration, the couch overlooks the backyard. From my morning perch I see sun-dappled oaks, potted begonias and, in the distance, the trampoline and hammock. These are the counterweights, what pulls me through the hours.
There are a lot of hours this longest day. But I can tell they will pass quickly, like water in a rushing stream. All leading to those final golden ones, the ones we have reclaimed from the night.
Graduation is behind us, so why do I care?
Because it’s a ritual, I guess. Because this is the last day the big yellow bus will come to our corner for two and a half months.
Because Fairfax County Public Schools close for the summer today and when they reopen in September it will be the first time since 1994 that one of my children isn’t enrolled.
This is a good thing, of course, what is supposed to be. But today, just a brief backward look, not of longing or of regret, but of fullness, significance. A nod to time passing. A nod to change.
A sure sign of summer in D.C., more even than long lines at the Capitol Visitors’ Center or Code Orange air alerts, is the suit jacket carried over a shoulder.
I noticed at least half a dozen examples of this on yesterday’s walk around the Mall, but didn’t snap any photos.
So for this one you’ll have to imagine it 20 degrees warmer, air steamy rather than brisk. Feel the heat radiating up from the pavement, see the leaves not moving on the trees.
It’s summer in the city. Jackets off!
It’s finally warm enough for a morning on the deck, writing, reading the paper, watching Copper in his earnest but futile campaign to catch the sleek crows that wing their way across the yard.
In the distance the sound of a small engine in the sky.
Its putter takes me right to the beach, a hot noon and a low-flying plane with an “All-You-Can-Eat Buffet” or “Free Jazz on the Pier” banner streaming behind it.
It’s Memorial Day. It’s warmer than 42 degrees. It’s finally summer.
The air is soft, the birds are singing, it’s time for the screen door.
A screen door breaks down the barrier between outside and in. It lets the air move freely between the two worlds.
Out go the dim lights, hot soups and thick socks of winter. In come the bright sun, cool salads and bare feet of summer.
This is not our screen door; it’s the screen door of my brother- and sister-in-law in Portland. We haven’t used our screen door since we got an energetic dog. Copper also sees a screen as a way to break down the barrier between outside and in — but in a more direct and less metaphorical way.
So I keep the back door open (no screen at all) and remember a time when the slap of the screen door closing meant summer and all of its freedoms.
