The High School and College Years of the Seasons

“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer.” ― F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

Every year, around this time, the day’s grow longer and the nights welcome the bustle of people who would rather take in the fresh air than the staleness of central air. The rains subside and the foliage, now thick and strong, permeates the air with the essence of florescence. [Happy sigh]. Do you smell that? It smells like happy.

Summer is a continuation of spring. It is the high school and college years of the seasons. It is when the blossoms develop and time slows just ever so slightly. Most of my fondest memories are in the summer. First kisses, first beers, first fornications, first Cubs game, first vacation on my own, second fornications, third, fourth, fifth and so on. In the summer, all the possibilities in life seem possible again.

twelve, no, eight.
I was eight years old
when a worm I cast
fell below into the underworld
of the leech infested lake.
a Northern, hungry,
took the bait and fought with Dad
as he reeled him in.
– Excerpt from Kerosene Dreams, a poem by Mike Hansen

The possibilities were arising when I was twelve or eight. Each summer I felt the air in my still blonde hair. Now Kennedy feels the air in her still blonde hair. She is exploring her “individuality” outside, like I did. Miles is running in the backyard naked, like I did when I was almost three years old. Something that is only possible when you are freed by the summer time air.

Now that I am almost as old as Jesus, I still feel the freedom that summer time bides. If it were socially acceptable, I would run around the backyard naked, diving into a plastic pool with mucky water, half cold and half warm. I marvel at the eyes of curiosity as Kennedy looks at a species of bug, newly discovered to her. And then I remember that I can relearn entomology with her as we hike and explore this concrete jungle.

I am reborn! I have accepted him into my heart. The season of summer and all his glory! Though the years have filled me with cynicism and contempt, I find it hard to erase the smile that this spirit has filled me with. There is nothing like a cold whiskey on a warm summer day. The spirit is with me! Behold the spirits and their awesome powers.

so, the other day I saw
children play
on tree branch
and it brought
a smile to face
– Excerpt from thank You, a poem by Mike Hansen

And now that I am as old as Brittany Murphy I have been reincarnated into the depths of summer. If it were possible to love a season on a deep emotional and personal level, I would love summer. Spring is too young for me. Summer is consensual. I love you summer. Thank you for loving me back.

Please to enjoy.

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