Swan Song for Summer

Dear Summer,

I just wanted to say a formal farewell to you as you disappeared Tuesday night without even whispering, "Adieu." As someone who hates goodbyes, I understand your hasty departure, but after our intimate relationship this summer I really expected more - a final barbecue, a last swim, one more hot night looking at the stars. But instead I went to bed humid and woke up with a chill to realize that the leaves were already changing, the air was suddenly crisp and the world had been repainted in hues of autumn where vivid greens had just been.

Crying would seem natural but surprisingly I'm not sad. With the same anticipation that I brought out my sandals on the first bearably warm day in April I put on my ballet flats yesterday. I realized that I'm actually sick of skirts and shorts and longing to cover my finally tan legs in pants. I'm excited to replace my "melon" and "freesia" home fragrance oils with scents like "pumpkin nectarine" and "golden apple." I want to make soups not salads. And I almost want to decorate for fall, though I refuse to do anything Halloween-specific. I just hate the black-orange color combo. And while I'm happy to see purple and green have been added to the mix, I'd much prefer taupe and turquoise.

So I suppose it was time to say goodbye, Summer. I guess our love affair had begun to wane. Hot was no longer invigorating. Bright was no longer charming. Wet just started to feel clammy. Things got stale.

But that doesn't mean we're over. Shortly after Christmas, if not sooner, I'll be begging for you to come back. I'll wet my pillow with tears at night remembering all our good times from this year and years past. I'll dream of you. I'll wish for you. I'll change my tune.

You are my season, Summer. Never forget that. But I'm not ready to settle down. I need a little Fall and Spring in my life to keep things exciting, but I love you the most. Always have, always will.

Oh, and I hate Winter. Like, I give myself diarrhea thinking about how soon that pointless season will steal Fall away. Any chance you could tell him to back off? He's so pushy.

Until next year!
Mrs. Dub