2007-08-21
summersongs
"Summer's gone,
I overslept and woke up to the chill of fall.
Overworked and now I'm all used up."
The days are numbered. They always have been, assigned on a calendar, coherent digits labeled upon the passing suns. But now I'm counting them closely, observing them pass, enduring them each moment, experiencing them as they fade. It crept up on me, but such is always the case with August-- its last weeks are sneaky and gobble the time under my weary watch. August has always left me recalling the summer, thinking of what else I wished to squeeze into it, to accomplish, to feel. But it is not a lamenting feeling of regret, rather a process of realizing the time as it has progressed.
"Goodbye summer - I hate to see you go;
I wasn't ready for the Autumn wind to blow."
No, no regret of missed deeds, I did what I could. But there is a certain resistance to the fall. Despite its crispness, the glorious brisk sense of the season, I wanted to bask in the sun a bit longer, feel its warmth invigorating my skin.
"So long sweet summer
I stumbled upon you and gratefully basked in your rays
So long sweet summer
I fell into you
Now you're gracefully falling away."
I loved the laze, and I appreciated the productivity. I resented the exhaustion, and I mildly battled my emotions of interally complaining and finding ways to contort to to be more optimistic and positive. I battled loneliness, I faced indulgence and subsequent guilt, I dealt with myself as best I could.
"Hey thanks
Thanks for that summer
It's cold where you're going
I hope that your heart's always warm
I gave you the best
Gave you the best that I have."
It's weird to speak of this all in past tense. The days are numbered, but they are as yet incomplete.
There is still time. Before the sun soaks itself up.
There is still time to revel in the beauty of summer, the warmth and the vibrant relaxation, even if the weather refuses to cooperate. The sand remains for my fingers to sweep through. The shore is yet tumultuous and nonchalantly casting whitecaps. There is still time for blatant disregard for the rest of the world, until September calls.
"I don't recall a single care
Just greenery and humid air
Then Labor day came and went
And we shed what was left of our summer skin."
I am going to sprint to the finish line. The end is so near, the light of the end of the tunnel is beaming, beckoning me to my family and my school and my life for the rest of the year, so unsummerlike. I see the number I'm approaching, not far from the one I'm at now. I will stride gracefully, powerfully, swiftly, keenly. I will uphold all I've inarticulately established for myself over these weeks, the strength I've acquired and refined, the self-sufficiency I've developed. The following two weeks will not elapse without my appreciation to them. Like an author delving into their deep spirits to put the right last chapters to their novel, so I sprint with great self-resolve. Oh summer.
"Summer arrives with a length of lights
And summer blows away
And quietly gets swallowed by a wave.
It gets swallowed by a wave."
leesah-likes at 7:54 p.m.