by Amy Littleson
I believe in time. I believe in homework and movies and sports and chores and games and books and car rides and holidays, and all the other things that pass the time from September to June. These things take our minds and our bodies and everything else, and distract them from the time that really matters to us. In reality, we learn from those fall, winter, and spring months as they shake us up before rolling along like incoming waves. But as soon as June rolls along, we toss everything we learned in those long winter months overboard, and they sink far down in the depths of our minds, forgotten and lost.
This is when summer begins.
To shake loose the snow, the cold, the bare trees of winter, the interminable days of testing and studying and thinking hard about everything, it’s all worth it. These bleak tiresome days simply build up to the greatest time of all; when snowmen, homework, fallen leaves, and waking up early are all forgotten, and the sunnier things in life are remembered. And once it’s finally summertime, each day is cherished more because of all of those long days that it took for summer to finally begin.
These tanned and sandy days of June, July and August, smelling of sun tan lotion and sea salt, each leave their mark on us in a different way. Some take up surfing or biking or walking, while others succumb to laziness and awaken at one o’clock in the afternoon, only to go lay on the beach. Most of us spend much-needed time with our friends–they become too familiar and predictable, but in a good way. The people who live out summer for all that it’s worth try to spend the limited time that they have, wisely. They have barbecues, jump off docks, take naps, run in sprinklers, chase the ice cream man, watch fireworks, read books, dive off diving boards, collect shells, and then stay up late and think of things to do next. No matter how someone chooses to spend his sacred time from the end of June to the start of September, he will still wait for that summertime and will want it when it’s not there. And when he does have it, he doesn’t waste a minute.
I believe in time, the time it takes for those summer months to wash up on the shore and the time that it takes for them to wash back into the sea as they pass without so much as a footprint to show. We head into September with new clothes and supplies and brief excitement for the upcoming year. Though really, our heads haven’t been washed from the sunny moments of June, July, and August, and we are still thinking of taking naps and watching fireworks and not caring much about anything. We then have to miserably remember all of the things summer erased from our heads, and then forget all of the things summer added. Then the first leaf falls and everything changes. And a new countdown to sunshine and sand and happiness begins.
And it’s the sunny moments of June, July, and August that make us through it. I believe in the summertime.