I drove to work this morning, teeth chattering, waiting for my car to heat up. The temperature was in the low thirties–far too low for April, I thought bitterly. April is my birth month, so it always felt like mine, but this year it had been so cold, going as far as to snow earlier in the month, that I felt the urge to renounce my claim, hoping May would be better–warmer.
Hoping May would bring spring.
Back in January, I talked about longing for spring. I’m not sure that’s true anymore. I want warmth, but now I almost want spring to be skipped over, for summer to come along instead.
Forget spring; it missed its chance.
Give me humid summer nights and fireflies, grass between my toes and all the bugs and bees that come with warmer seasons. Give me shorts and flip flops and pool days. Give me sun-soaked skin and chlorine in my hair. Give me tans and warm fingers and toes. Give me stuffy cars and windows rolled down, sunglasses and tank tops, sandals and beach bums.
Give me summer pop music and seasonal treats, sno-cones and popsicles and italian ice. Give me ice coffees and smoothies, macaroons every color of the rainbow and strawberry shortcake. Give me hot pavement and the sound of river water under my canoe, branches blowing in the warm breeze, cool in the shade and in the water.
Give me all these things and more.
Give me summer.