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, warm temperatures will linger until we’re ready to wish for fall. In between, we get those long days of sunshine that we wish could last all year long. That’s how much we love our three perfect months of summer.
Our 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. We slide into a patio chair and begin to count the stars. It’s the perfect way to wind down the evening. Finally, we start a slow drift into the house for sweet summer night dreams.
Celebrations of summer are a familiar mix of lazy lounging and joyous riots. 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, 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 we only get three perfect months. Otherwise, the remaining nine months might desert us because we love our summers so much.