Written By Christine Gleim - Christine is a recent college graduate trying to find her place in the world. First and foremost she is a scientist, but she loves to relax and create through writing. She can be found with her nose in a mystery or science fiction novel, obsessing over a show on Netflix, or out on a long walk.
It was the year summer died. Not the season, of course. The idea. The magic that came with the hot bright sun and long days. The colors stayed the same. The oak trees were still the vibrant, verdant, vivid green they only held during the summer. My favorite shade. The sky still held those shades of blue: sometimes pure and deep and true blue, sometimes a dark and steady blue (like his eyes…), sometimes a pale and wistful almost white blue. The temperatures remained the same, wonderfully warm that made your skin tingle and heated you to the core. The birds still sang you awake in the morning and the crickets lulled you to sleep at night. All this the same and yet it was dead. The feeling. The idea.
No one else saw it die. But I did. Summer died quietly on a lonely night in May.
The magic and the freedom of summer no longer seemed present. The joy and lightheartedness was gone. I searched for it but it was nowhere to be found, at least not for long. It was caught in moments only: the week at the beach, the day at the amusement park, the afternoon floating down the creek, the day by the pool, the night at the creamery. I missed the nights by the campfire, the bike rides and hikes of childhood, trips to the movies and for froyo with friends, and the feeling that reality was suspended if only for a while. The usual scenes were gone. Their absence hung in the air like a fog.
Instead everything was in shades of gray. This time the season was wrapped in longing and loneliness. Even on the good days I could feel it there just around the bend. In winter I had dreaded the return home for the summer, then in spring while life was full of vibrance and color and excitement I could picture summer blossoming before me again as a time of magic. I dared to hope for adventure and romance. Yet when I passed through its door summer lay before me as I had feared, empty and full of unknowns (not the good kind full of exciting possibilities). It was no longer carefree, but full of doubts and worries.
I am left to wonder if this is what summer will be as an adult. Is summer now like every other season just hotter? Can the magic be restored? Or is there a new magic to be discovered?
I desperately tried to keep summer alive, but to no avail. I could not find the feeling that always came with the season. Outside it was beautiful, but inside the heart of summer was dead.