Skip to main content

Wait, Summer! Don't Go Yet!

I have always said this—
I love the change of seasons.
And I mean it.
But just now I am clinging to Summer
by its ankles as it pivots toward the door
and leaves the room.
Wait! Don't go yet!
I call as I tighten my grip around its shin bone,
and it pulls me across the floor,
bunching up the summer rug beneath me,
the green grass, snapdragons and sprawled out oregano now in folds.
It's about to drag me through
crunchy leaves and spiked acorns and withering herbs.
So I plant my feet flatly against the door frame,
knees locked and jaw set,
as Summer shrugs and shakes me off
with a fling of its foot.
And empty handed, I reach out with splayed fingers,
and I shout one last time,
Wait! Not yet!
Just one more day.

Last week, Ohio experienced one of the hottest days of the summer, and then the next day we woke up to autumn with fall temperatures and rain and cloudy skies, and the forecast for the forseable future seems destined to plow straight ahead with no looking back.

My orchestra's outdoor Labor Day concert has been canceled, my swimming pool ripples without a soul to plunge into it and I've begun to wear scarves and socks again. And shoes. It was just a couple of weeks ago that I lamented I would soon have to start wearing shoes again. Well, the time has come to lace them up or slip them on, and there's not a thing I can do to stop it.

Last night, Husband and I and a couple of friends did one last summer thing—we went to an Indians game in Cleveland—and we wore jackets and scarves and long pants as we sat in the chilly lake-effected night breeze. It looked like this—a farewell to Summer.




Labels:

Comments

dive said…
Woohoo for poetry! Marvellous, Robyn!
I'm sure Summer will pop back to visit you and make sure you have a delicious September.
GO INDIANS!
Bummer that they lost, but at least you got a glorious sunset.
1:43 PM
Speedway said…
It's a lovely poem, Robyn. As much as I've sweltered this summer, I don't want it to go, but to hang around, more quiet and mild.

I say this from the middle of Indiana, where it was in the mid-90s last week, reaching 100 on Saturday, and is now a very breezy 63. Ach!
1:56 PM
Robyn Martins said…
Dive, it really was a beautiful sunset that was not diminished by the Indians' sucky playing.

Speedway, we have your same weather. It was sweltering on Saturday, and now it's practically chilly.
2:00 PM
Anonymous said…
Love the poem, wish I could echo its sentiment! Me? I can't wait for summer to be over. Today's high in my neck of the woods: 98 degrees. Trade ya!
4:27 PM
Shan said…
Wow, what a perfect poem. I have been acting this out in my head before I even read it. I never complain about the heat in the summer because I am good in the heat. I loathe being cold. Loathe. :)
10:11 AM
Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

No More Mr. Nice Guy

It's good to be a nice person--to say nice things, to do nice things, to write nice things--but I declare an end to the use of the word nice. Nice is what you say when you can't think of any other adjective. Someone shows you a picture of their back yard--that's nice. Someone tells you about their afternoon adventure--that's nice. Or someone describes their childhood in great detail and sometimes with painstaking effort--that's nice. It's a lazy word, and it's non-descriptive. Nice is like mashed potatoes with noodles and chicken gravy all in a big pile on one plate with some canned corn for garnish. Everything is the same color and texture and base substance--starch (this is a favorite Amish dish). Nice is like a partly cloudy day in April when outside feels like inside, and you can't tell a difference between the lighting and the temperature of your living room and the lighting and temperature of your front yard. Nice is a glass of lukewarm water. ...
20 comments
Read more

An Offending Pile

So, I'm standing in my living room letting my mind wander for a minute or two as I stare out the window and watch the day go by, and I see my neighbors walking their dogs down the street. They are nice neighbors who are always friendly and responsible with their property. That is to say they aren't like the other neighbors who heap rubbish behind their house like Ma and Pa Kettle and let their dogs bark for thirty minutes at a time . Anyway, I see the nice people walking their dogs, a big golden retriever who is as sweet as can be and as dumb as a post—he once ate a sock and nearly died before it was surgically removed—and a new golden retriever puppy. Then I see Neighbor Wife suddenly run down the street with the big dog. Then I see Neighbor Husband stopped in front of my house with the puppy on its leash. And then I see the puppy taking a huge dump in my grass. Let me tell you, that is not done in this town unless the dog owner has a plastic bag handy and is ready to pick up ...
16 comments
Read more

Am I Stupid, or What?

In two weeks, I will climb up into a charter bus, take my assigned seat, and ride 22 hours straight to Orlando, Florida. I will be a chaperon with the high school marching band, which will perform at Disney's Magic Kingdom--me and 180 people on four big buses for seven days. We will travel together, eat together, play together, fall down exhausted together--and after 22 hours, I suspect stink to high heaven together. Because of the crazy schedule, we will leave Ohio at 6 pm, travel all night and most of the next day, and spend several hours at MGM Studios before ending up at the hotel sometime after 7 pm. After I check in with the eight girls I am to supervise, I intend to shower and shower and shower. I intend to wear clean clothes and socks and brush my teeth until my toothbrush wears out. Of all the things I could be concerned about on this trip, being dirty seems to weigh heaviest on my mind. One of my eight charges could run off and do bad things with her boyfriend, but I'...
21 comments
Read more