savoring the last of summer
reminiscing & how to soak up the last of it
I spend every August learning how to preserve a season in my palms.
I twist the rind of summer, hoping to catch every last drop. Days grow shorter, the warm glow of sunset caressing my cheeks earlier each evening. Sunlight slips between my fingers—impossible to hold, but I try anyway.
Seasons move faster as I grow older. Or maybe I've only grown aware of their fleetingness. Time stretches wide in youth, but now shrinks beneath weight of endless memory. The days are shorter, but I try to drink their sweetness all the same. I want to slow the clock, to stretch these last golden hours until they spill into something more.
On sweltering afternoons, when air clung to my skin, i've thought of cooler nights, and sweaters folded in drawers. But as the air shifts and I feel summer slipping away, I clutch tighter, desperate to stay. Not to keep it forever, but to keep it a little longer. Just enough to feel the kiss of the ocean at my ankles. The sticky drop of juice dripping down my chin, my finger, my hand.
But suddenly another summer has come and gone. The season folding itself up like a picnic blanket, leaving me holding the worn fabric of faded light. I keep summer in fragments, like jars of jam, holding the sweetness of something soon to be gone.
The sweetness of summer still clings in stains of it’s juice. It’s warmth lingers in my skin, a time capsule of sunlight. Dusk now has cool fingers tracing along my neck and wrists. A stranger mentions how quickly summer has come and gone.
The days, once slow and golden, now blur past in a breathless race. The once gentle fingers now gripping at my wrist and pulling me along as I race from the shadows. I used to believe we had all summer, endless days stretched like warm linen under the sun. The calendar whispers in a hurried voice: one week left. I chase after time—a kite in a restless breeze, hands stretched but never quite reaching. I want to gather every missed moment like fallen leaves before they scatter.
I try to stretch moments, but they unravel faster than my grasp. The horizon swallows the sun as days collapse like dominoes, falling faster than I can keep up. All these things I meant to do; the late-night talks, the salty swims, the sticky fingers smudged with marshmallow. I want to grab them back, hold them close, slow everything down, but it’s already too late. I tell myself there’s time, one more day, one more week, yet I watch shadows stretch longer and the sky bleed colors Im not ready to say goodbye to.
It is then the excitement for fall, warm and promising, flickers. The sun I’m chasing now is the last I’ll hold like this, and the skin that remembers this warmth will soon feel the cool of change. Just as every summer before, next summer will be different. Because I will be different too, shifting like the season, carrying the echoes of sun-drenched days and salty swims into a version of myself I have yet to meet.
So I fold this summer carefully into memory, canning the sweet berries, their rich juices staining the soft, worn fabric of who I was, who I am, and who I’m becoming.
preserving the last drops of summer
This year, summer felt like it skipped me entirely. The drips of it down my hands, a popsicle I didn’t eat fast enough. I kept waiting for the slow, golden afternoons, for the heat to sink into my bones, but they never came. This summer came and left all in one breath.
I caught myself excited to shift to warmer layers and cozy meals before realizing it was still very much summer and very much hot out. A tinge of guilt crept up realizing the days I had wasted away. This summer had been nothing like I had hoped early in May. While not entirely in my control, I can still recall the number of days I said tomorrow yet tomorrow never came.Now I’m making up for it, cramming in every last drop before the season fades.
I regret what I didn’t do and the time wasted away tied to corporate life or wishes for cooler days or my own laziness.
Summer should have specific experiences, many I did not feel this summer. Ice cream should be enjoyed like a child again. Sprinkles or a waffle cone or the silly flavor so sweet it make your teeth ache. The crackle of logs and heat of the flames licking your skin as chocolate oozes from your smore. Lingering on a patio long after happy hour ends. The glow of string lights on the cheeks of your friend as their laughter floats into the now chilled breeze.
Salt on your skin and hair stiff from the sea, still warm from the sun even as the sky softens into evening. Dripping watermelon juice onto bare legs, sticky and sweet, the seeds like little black commas in the story of the day. The slow sway of a hammock, toes tracing idle circles in the air. The hum of cicadas, steady and hypnotic, as if the air itself is humming along with summer. Taking it all in and lapping up its juice before it dries into rust-colored skies and frost-bitten mornings. Shrinks into shorter days and longer sleeves.
Summer used to be marked but the special moment responsibilities faded for a few month. As an adult everyday merges into one, the same day over and over as if an eternal loop. Summer has lost its magic with no definative beginning and end to mark its arrival and departure. So it all merges into one and has faded away before the tomorrows can become todays.
So now, as children prepare for that dreaded departure of their break, I grasp at the scraps of what is left of the season.
Before it slips away entirely, there are little ways to hold on to summer a bit longer:
start the crafts you want for colder weather. knit the mittens now so they are ready to be worn
take the dip in the ocean or lake or river. even if you just showered. even if it’s cold. enjoy it before the sun takes away its warmth.
eat stone fruits and berries like it’s urgent and the last you’ll ever have. let them drip down your hands and savor their flavor.
resist the urge to dive into autumn decor too early. enjoy the soft but bright colors summer has to offer.
Sit outside with friends, letting conversations stretch long while the golden light fades.
Wake up early. Spend a morning in pajamas on the balcony or porch, coffee in hand, just soaking up the quiet sun.
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