the song of summer

Riding on the coattails of summer, I'm hanging on to every last bit of the season as a breeze blows through the open windows. Seems as though the rest of the world is doing the same: Folks asking to sit on restaurant patios for a late supper. Couples strolling down neighborhood streets under lamp post light. Kids on bikes and scooters, their feet turning over extra fast, knowing they'll be on foot as soon as school starts next week. At Sunday dinner, when given the option of bowl or cone for ice cream, Pat, Griff and I all opted for cones. There's something about an ice cream cone that says summer. (I don't doubt Grandpa would agree.) I ordered a lemonade at lunch today in somewhat of a summer homage. It won't taste as good in a few weeks. Then, on my way home from work, I saw a handsome 30-something dude long boarding his way down 6200 South in a suit and tie, the opposite way of traffic, ipod and all. I wanted to champion him for his endless summer efforts (and bravery).

Like the last glowing embers in a campfire, or the tireless firefly in a mason jar, the light of summer is slowly fading. With that realization we walked to dinner tonight and dined on wood-fired pizza with summer veggies and heirloom tomato caprese salad. We took the long way home, our steps a bit slower. Tomorrow night there's one more cookout up the canyon. The nights are already cooler and there's that feeling of to every thing turn turn turn...