Summer

Summer is one of those things. When it’s gone, it’s like losing a wedding ring. Searching under the bed. But all I get is ghosts instead. We don’t have to hibernate. I remember all the ice cream we ate. All the hills, covered in weeds. The sound of crickets we didn’t know we need. Summer is someone you call. When you want to paint the porch in overalls. Splattering paint, feeling playful. Summer always feels full. Jogs in the early morning, I remember. But now, there are signs of September. Summer will end, all on its own. We know it when we answer the phone. And can’t go to the beach. Or pick a peach. So everyone, this is why. When summer is here, we have to try.