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- I typed this last Friday - such happy days then - and never posted it: The sun went down on a clear evening and we didn't have clouds or smoke to blame for the earliness - the seasons are changing. The days are shorter. Summer has come to an end. I always hate to see summer go. I like winter while it's happening but I hate the thought of it being on its way. I like the comfort of the darkness while it's happening but I can hardly stand the fact that the days are getting shorter. I hate to see summer go. The summer was weird while it was happening, but I am sorry to see it go - I miss sitting out on the front porch and reading at lunch, having to water the wave petunias twice a day lest they whither away, going outside at 11 o'clock at night in shorts and a t-shirt, waking up to an already-bright morning. This was my last summer at this house with this yard, this tiny apartment, my garden, the phlox along the fence, the rose bushes, my huge bathroom and beautiful wood floors and beautiful wide wood staircase and built-ins and mirrors. I started this summer by reading Summer by Edith Wharton and I enjoyed it so much I kept on reading books like I'd never done outside of my imagination. In my imagination I'll keep on doing this through the winter - next to my fireplace on my hypothetical new couch - but it won't be like it was this summer. This has been a weird year but when I get off the internet and go outside, things are still okay.
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