We only get three months? That’s just not fair.
According to the calendar, it starts near the end of June and ends near the end of September. That’s not enough time, but arguing with an almanac pinned to the wall is pointless.
The weather is beautiful before June, so pretending that it starts early is easy enough. With luck, the warm temperatures will linger until we’re ready to wish for fall.
In between, we get those long days of sunshine, and we wish they could last all year long. That’s how much we love our three perfect months of summer.
Food tastes better in the summer because we’re cooking outside. Grill marks make plain hot dogs fun, and beer chilled in the cooler stays extra cold. Popsicles are the dessert of choice, and cleanup is just a toss of paper plates.
A baseball tossed around after dinner turns the backyard into a family field of games played against a brilliant sunset. Sliding into a patio chair and counting stars is the perfect way to wind down the warm evening.
Finally, we start a slow drift into the house for sweet summer night dreams. Our celebrations of summer are a familiar mix of joyous riots and lazy lounging.
Kids light up like fireworks when they hear the ice cream truck. The pool is full of human cannonballs and water-soaked laughter. Finding the perfect shade tree is a picnic tradition because its canopy is so important to a summertime nap.
There really is time to enjoy an 800-page novel, and the sound of the surf turns reading into a luxury. The days stretch out and seem almost endless.
It’s probably best that we only get three perfect months. Otherwise, the remaining nine months might desert us because we love our summers so much.