Summer. When did we first hear your name, first long for your arrival? You were always distant, elusive, a sunny month of June. July. August.
It’s August 23, and only two weeks until school starts. We wouldn’t think that summer was ending, but the weather is cold, clammy, and sunless. The rain drips gloomily from a grey sky, foretelling dreary winter days ahead.
But we’re inside. It’s bright in here. And I have much to do.