We’re painting our lives onto this fresh canvas. We’re eating fresh produce: tomato steaks, watermelon, corn. Summer is a dotted blue line running downhill into September and pumpkin pie. Hold hands and plunge.
Then we will string summer out to dry from our cellar ceilings, lace our boots, button our fall jackets. We’ll ride our bikes into town for spiced chai and miss the way summer hung plump around our middles, beaded around our foreheads. Remember?
Remember hanging woodcuts and intaglios from string, like clothes out to dry? And lamps, and wooden shelves, and the microwave. And humidity.
Remember how this summer, like every summer, has changed everything.