"The more things seem to change the more they stay the same." - Corinne Bailey Rae
Walking outside tonight the chill in the air was weakening; there is a fragrance lingering on the faint puffs of wind that grows stronger rather than dissipating. Memories start awakening from their winter sleeps, glimpses of friends and boys and shows and moonlight nights glistening with tears flash before my eyes once again.
My fingers are once again inspired to type, my soul stretches and grows.
Change is in the air, and my love of all loves - Summer - approaches me, elusive and ethereal.
Summer! I am not worthy of singing her praises. What are my lips to speak of her brilliant sunny days, the perfumed breezes she wraps around herself, the greenness she bestows on the trees and brush, and the feelings she awakens in man and beast?
Spring may be a lovely azure, filled with zest and renovation after the flinging down of the gauntlet of Winter, but she pales in comparison to the luxury and exuberance of her sister. Who but Summer populates the world in brightly colored flowers and fills the nights with warm moons and glitteringly starry skies?
What other season lays claim to lovers' hearts and that wild fragrant fancy we so aptly name "summer love"?
What other season breathes life into us like champagne bubbles overflowing a bottle with newly cut wires?
What other season do children long for, and all the inner children of the staid and sober adults secretly exult in?
O' pity that I cannot sing her praises truly, but blessed mercy that I may sing them at all, for I, a child of Summer, have some right to love her dearly.
She may not have Winter's sleek austerity, nor Autumn's decided advance and harvested treasures, nor Spring's joyous arrival but she has her own jubilation, a season of true munificence and glory.
'Tis true, 'tis pity, and pity 'tis, 'tis true - and yet I long for Summer.
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