Golden Season
An Ode to Summer
How does it happen
the passage of time
picking up speed this time of year
leaving only a short window
for avocados to become creamy and peaches to thrive
to be overwhelmed by the fragrance of jasmine and lavender
carried by the evening breeze,
for the pink and white peonies to unfurl from their tight globes
hesitant to burst open the sweet layers that reveal their full glory
what are they afraid of -
peaking too soon, setting expectations too high?
The sun its brightest, highest, most golden
stars sparkling on a night navy curtain
lit by the moon.
Then there’s us.
We work and play and travel
we read and write
and eat and drink as we always do
but when we do things now,
we mimic the snail rather than the roadrunner.
Life is easier.
Life is sweeter.
Ice cream becomes a food group, dessert a non-negotiable.
We swim to cool down
we swim in the absence of rain.
When the rain makes a rare visit we drink in its petrichor,
dance in its warm puddles
and crane our necks at the rainbows painting the sky colors found in a box of crayons.
We dread the end
warned by cooler nights
because the flowers will die
and there will be no fresh strawberries to buy at the market
or pick from the garden.
We settle for apples but how many apples can we eat?
Unless we bake pie.
So we bake pie.
We close the windows,
pull out the sweaters and the extra blankets.
We build fires.
We neglect our fit bodies, abandon squeezing them into bathing suits
and lose our tans.
We stockpile salty snacks and swap rosé for red.
We plan the turkey dinner and where to spend Christmas.
This might be the year we ski.
Our time to thrive fades
melancholy replaces joy.
We drive our cars home from work in the dark on crowded freeways.
We dread the pressure of the dates approaching on our new calendars
with their lists, reminders, and big deadlines;
resolutions are abandoned.
Until the days stretch and become longer
the May haze and June Gloom, cyclical coastal markers
of both endings and beginnings.
Soon we are picking the blueberries and eating cucumbers
and sizzling meats on our grills that go great with fresh corn.
We sail on boats, surf, and splash in the sea.
We watch fireworks.
And we decide that summer isn’t a break or a midpoint
but the main attraction.
Summer is the thing we have waited for all year
to witness once again how nature transforms
death into life, cold into warmth, darkness to light.
Then there’s us.
We shine our brightest, at our most golden
just like the sun - ruler of these long days.
If each day has a golden hour, each year has a golden season.
You know the one.


This ode to summer is lovely! Thank you. Petrichor is a wonderful word to add to my vocabulary. I had to look it up.