Where did the summer go? One morning we were planning an outing to the beach and it seemed like we had scarcely run into warm weather, and now it is August and the world is warm and golden and hazy. The air is softening. The sun sets earlier and earlier in the day. The pines are resinous, the world full of noise. We have a couple of hot days and then we have a few days in which the autumn seems so much closer than we thought it was, and it is always takes us by surprise.
Here is what we have: white sheets, white wine, blue box fans and Sundays spent reading Proust and Heidegger. We have blue twilights and denim jackets. We have barbecue suppers and soft jazz. We have the yellowing pages of a paperback and an old film on TV that we scarcely watch. I watch you fiddle with your iPhone. We both stare into the void. We go for long walks at night and come home a little moist, ready for a cool shower and the reassuring qualities of sleep. We have diary entries that flow on too long, with the same regular complaints –– not enough money, not enough time. There never is enough time or money. This is how life is for billions of lives around us, yet no one has any answer on how to prolong the days anymore.
We stare at each other from across a room at someone's dinner party. The host plays Wayne Shorter and Mary Lou Williams and we drink highball cocktails and we smell new leather, perfume, the smell of slow cooker Swedish meatballs and the rank stench of the river. We smell bird shit, bum piss, bicycle rubber. We smell the summer and wish to keep it going, but always it gilds its innards and then pushes them out towards us, like a blooming rose. The summer disembowels itself so that we can live.
August shimmers on our skin, in our hair, in our bones, on our bodies that lay under layers of sunscreen and jasmine, kissed by sea salt and smelling of rose petals. The summer fades within us like a sun that sets earlier and earlier, a slow call to repose and to contemplation, the golden peak of our own spiritual harvest. How I wish this gold would sew itself in the dark corners of my life every day of the year.
#ellowrites #summer #summertime #romance #microfiction #excerpts #zines