Summer. I never thought it would get here. Summer in the South had a slow start this year, barely inching into the upper 80's and mid-90's by the middle of June. If you're from the South you'll know that this is practically unheard of since one typically starts sweating immediately upon entering the outdoors come early May. Maybe it was the two weeks of non-stop rain or maybe it was the lingering aftermath of a particularly cold and unshakeable winter, but summer seemed somewhat stalled this year.
Summer is my favorite season. There's just something so familiar and comforting about it that I can't quite place my finger on. Mostly, it reminds me of adolescence and freedom. I remember feeling most like myself among the blades of freshly cut grass and blaring sun. I equally love and detest the suffocating humidity because it reminds me of jumping on hot-topped trampolines and peaking over the quiet wooden fences of suburbia. The whole neighborhood expanded before me between each bounce.
When I think about summer, I feel the days stretch out around me long and proud and I felt sorry for those who couldn't experience the length of the day in the way I could. I felt sorry for those people (people like me now) who were stuffed in cubicles in over air conditioned offices. I remember running and playing with my dog and taking pictures of everything. I remember hot concrete and park swings and day camp. I remember the smell of skin after a fresh tan. I think about the chemical-rich smell of chlorine that ignited something in me and freezing turquoise pool water. I think about sticky hands from melted ice-cream and cherry red tongues, a product of excessive popsicle consumption. I think about the smokey discharge from the grill and the warm smell of hot dogs and burgers wafting through the air. I think about throwing the softball with my Dad day in and day out and the smells of sweat and the leather on my mitt. Summer reminds me of falling in love with my hometown and myself.
