Our crumbling old barn
As I sat in the car today, with the air conditioning on full blast--pointed directly at my face--I thought about summer. How as a kid, I couldn't wait for the season to arrive, and mourned its passing each year. As we reach the middle of August and I see September looming in the distance, I brought back fond memories of swimming in my aunt's pond, lazy picnics in tall grass, and catching fireflies in glass jars. And I came to one overwhelming conclusion.
I am so over summer.
I'm ready for cool nights and frost covered mornings. Apple cider and pumpkins on the vine. Jumping in leaf piles and late night bonfires. Hayrides and Halloween. A harvest moon and hand knitted wool sweaters.
And for some stranger reason, back to school shopping. I don't even have kids in school anymore, but I feel nostalgic when I see bins filled with Elmer's glue and boxes of crayons lined up along the aisles in the local stores. I want to fill my cart with reams of notebook paper and bright yellow number two pencils. Pencils I can sharpen again and again until the smell of wood shavings invades my senses, making me forget how much time has passed since I last brought an apple to the teacher on the first day of school.
Maybe I am getting old. Or maybe fall is just that magical.
Or maybe it's a little bit of both.
Until the next time...I'll be watching for shooting stars.