Some Prose-Summer

This is inspired by a Tweet I sent earlier in the summer of 2018.

Summer is my favorite season. Many will claim to like fall because we have done a great job of coalescing sweater weather lovers online. Some will say winter because of sleds and snow but I feel it is really because of Christmas (ie stuff) or just to be iconoclastic. I think no one cares about spring, which is sad but it is certainly the number 4 in my seasonal ranking.

Summer embodies life and means food and growth. When we lionize fall and winter we are lionizing seasons of fall and death. Hence, why my earlier point that its too bad spring gets such a minor role. It is rebirth! The Phoenix coming from the fire. But, does anyone care about spring?

Summer is my favorite season because professionally it has always been a difficult one. In my previous work it meant smoldering in a warehouse. In my current work it is beyond the wall busy, a frantic rush where we are both making the rug and yanking it out from underneath us. This has made me appreciate my favorite summer feeling which is standing in or by a yard with tall unkempt grass. The sun is high and the heat baking and dry so that you can feel the distinct layers of clothes on you. Your socks peeling away from your shoes in the heat. And there is a snicker-snack cadence of bugs zipping through the high grass and chirping. Maybe the long, shrill blast of an annual cicada. A feeling of teeth in the grass that can slink up and then go back to ground when they realize how stifling the heat really is. And I feel this sometimes from my car, the windows rolled down and the broken AC blasting hot air because I still run the fan. Or I will feel it on foot and get closer to the whole scene. That little scene, often quite suburban and easily shattered by a passing car or overhead jet, epitomizes summer. The only thing better would be if the sky behind me is that scary blue-black bruise color. A thunderstorm also brimming and ready to unwind in a single snap.