Summer is the angry flame of a million discarded Jack O'Lanterns.
So many of us wither and die, but there are many of us that survive.
Perhaps 'survive' is too strong of a word, but we continue to exist.
Rotting. Fading. But holding on for the promise of a new October.
The wait is long and hard as we waste away on porches or in abandoned woods. We know our time will come again, but it never seems to get here.
We relish in what we can find in the interim; the little scraps we can salvage. The cold, ghostly silence of winter. The spring breeze that's not too much warmer than fall's, if you close your eyes.
But by summer, we are tired. We have grown weary of waiting, and we're tired of the pain that the change of seasons continues to bring. It is but a single step away. So close we can taste it. So near we can almost smell the air.
The heat is excruciating; the sun beating down upon us as if trying to force us into some type of submission. Is everyone happy but us, during this time?
We have made it this far. We may not be standing tall, but we've surpassed the sad, decrepit others. We will survive the summer, but we will not deny our weariness any longer.
Autumn, come and bring us back to life.
Wonderful poem, it perfectly encapsulates how I feel about Summer! Here in the south, we're already hitting 90+ degree weather. Absolutely miserable. Still, I love how this poem imparts a little motivation at the end. We'll make it!
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