by Jack
There is something fleeting in a summer night. Sitting on a porch at dusk in a humid sponge of clipped sentences and car sounds passing from distant to here to distant again, watching a baseball game in a crisply air-conditioned living room hearing the contented murmur of a far away crowd in the focused lulls of the game, moments that seem to pause and stare before passing. Yet even as we bask in this languorous unfolding of the little, there comes the barely perceptible rush of an outward tide stealing away time at a frantic rate. The game is over, the hour too late for idle conversation, back to school, back to work.
Summer becomes precious early in life, it may be the first thing we realize we have squandered. The first summer after kindergarten arrives like morning after a bad dream and is received with relief and casual appreciation. The end of this summer is the true end of childhood. Continue reading
