A calendar for the coming year arrives. It has photos of ibex and honeybees, and all those empty spaces. That half of this year’s gone saddens me, as after making love, the smoke I crave is now a phantom cigarette.
August is over and summer in its fading fullness climbs toward autumn like an aging, overweight man going up the stairs, pursuing visions he’ll no longer grasp. Now the only moan is the stairs as he mounts them, catches his breath, sinks slowly into fall.
People in this part of the world tend to think of summer as the "free and easy" season, thanks to the amenable weather and memories of childhood summers off. But in all honestly, how often have you over-scheduled and overextended yourself, racing to make the most of summer fun, only to find yourself exhausted and wondering when you’ll get to slow down and enjoy the season?