One of us is marching toward fall with her chin in the air, left arm tucked in a cozy wool sweater, right hand holding a crunchy apple.
The other is taking a more languid pace, bare toes dragging in wet sand, marshmallow mustache on surly lip, face turned toward the setting summer sun.
Here is our point/counterpoint on the saddest or most hopeful seasonal transition of the year…
Dear Summer,
Please don’t go. I’ve been busy, I know, and maybe I haven’t paid you the kind of attention you get from those sweet tea sippers south of the Mason/Dixon line.
You’re still my favorite season though. And I can do better.
I mean, I’m not going to rock a bikini, but I’m perfectly willing to slather on a little sun block and worship you and that hot sun of yours in my conservative blue one piece. I’ll toast you too, with fresh lemonade and blueberry mint juleps.
Give me another chance to splash around a little, feel a soft breeze on my skin, smell fresh cut grass, taste crisp watermelon.
I’m not going to beg. I’m dignified that way.
But, please, please summer. Don’t leave me. If you do, I know what’s ahead — cold mornings, and mealy fruit, and stale air, and so, so many layers of clothes.
I know, it’s not me, it’s you. There’s that whole spinning planet thing and all. I accept that the blissfully long days are probably not going to happen for a while.
But, maybe you could meet me halfway? Toss a month of sunshine my way? Stretch yourself into November. You can do it, I know you can.
And I’ll be right here cheering you on in my bare feet, sleeveless T-shirt and necessary sun glasses.
Yours truly,
Laura
Dear Autumn,
Welcome! It’s been a while. I’m glad to see you’re stopping in our neck of the woods for the next couple months. I know right now it may seem like Summer is squatting on your turf, but trust me, as soon as those nostalgic sun-soakers learn to let go, we’ll send that mooch back down south where it belongs. Then everyone will give you the appreciation you deserve.
What’s not to love? Summer can keep its watermelon and strawberries. We all know you’re the true harvest season. While Summer makes us stoop to the ground for just a few tiny berries, you deliver pounds and pounds of crisp apples right at eye level. And don’t even get me started on the pumpkins. Watermelon may be the heavy weight of the preseason but it’s got nothing on the regular season players. Try putting a watermelon in a latte, can’t do it.
Frankly I’m even excited to have your cool demeanor. Seriously Autumn, try baking a cake in an unairconditioned kitchen when it’s 90 degrees outside. Not pleasant. Some sunsoakers are worried about all the layering up your season entails, but trust me Autumn, we pasty Wisconsinites are much more appealing with a little more left to the imagination. And besides, kids these days are all about layering (so I’m told), scarves on top of sweaters on top of button ups on top of dress, it’s like your own personal sauna. And the wool, of course. Wool socks and tights and dresses and sweaters and scarves and mittens. Most days, autumn, I feel like I’m getting hugged by about ten sheep.
And of course the holidays. Sure Summer’s got Fourth of July, that’s basically just a giant cook out, which people would already do anyway during the Summer even if it wasn’t Independence Day. Come on Fourth of July get some creativity. It’s no surprise that you have the best holidays (even my mom, a loyal sunsoaker’s favorite holiday is Halloween). Then of course you’re through in Thanksgiving, the great hurrah before that jerk Winter has to ruin everything. Thanksgiving is just one big holiday for proving that your food is better than Summer’s food (there might be something about thankfulness too, I guess). A lot more interesting than a giant barbeque.
There you go Autumn, no begging, no bargaining, just exposing your true superiority. Really you made it easy for me. Thanks Autumn, I look forward to spending much more time with you.
Yours Truly,
Molly
