I am Summer.

 

It is November.

Summer has finally surrendered its grip on this city, giving way to that brief, almost shy winter...the one that arrives quietly and leaves too soon. And in that shifting of seasons, I realize this truth about us:

I am summer. I am your summer.

I arrive in a burst of warmth, all brightness and long, generous days. I am the sudden ease in your shoulders, the way your laughter comes unannounced, like sunlight slipping through a half-open curtain.

With me, everything feels briefly possible; plans, hopes, even the fragile idea that happiness can be simple. But you also know summer is temporary, a guest rather than a permanent resident.

While I may bring the idle breeze that lifts your hair and the shimmer that glosses over ordinary hours, I cannot claim the steadfastness of autumn, the contemplative hush of winter, or teh soft renewals of spring. I can't promise the patience of leaves turning, the calm endurance of cold nights, or the tender promise of new buds after rain.

I am the warmth you welcome, not the rhythm you rely on.

Still, if all I can be is your summer, then let me be the one that lingers just a little longer than expected; long enough to be remembered, long enough to leave the faint scent of sunlitdays on the edges of your year.

I know I am but summer to your heart, and not the full four seasons of the year: Edna St Vincent Millay

...and I.