It comes into view around the first warm days of April: huge, gleaming, full of promise. It is summer, revealing its promise from the flightpath 40,000 miles above. We know that touchdown is way off into the months ahead, but the site of that gleaming bird on its initial approach is enough to shake off the cold, the cabin fever and to release the cotton candy visions of all that is to come.
In some ways, the anticipation is best, as we can await the gradual arrival, the first blooms and the early romantic nights when the Milky Way puts on the first fireworks of the season– all without the meter running yet. It is still spring. We have the entirety of it all still ours to enjoy. Every day to come. Every moment.
And then before we know it, we recognize that summer is upon us, the meter ticking, Memorial Day just a memory. The airspeed than seems to accelerate, pushed by a tail wind, approaching and then overtaking the grand marker of the season, July 4.
We move faster now to soak it all in, half days at the office, vacations that span weeks in theory but are over within hours (or so it seems) after they begin. And the calendar keeps closing in. Soon talk turns to football, school years, elections, and the curse of all curses: Labor Day.
To be alive and free and in love with life in the midst of the only seasons with butterflys and Ferris wheels and picnics on the beach, is a gift from God that is absolutely incomparable. Like all of our time on earth, we must savor what we have, the simpler the better, knowing full well that all moves on, leaving us behind. We must accept and love the harsh and gorgeous reality together, for summer, for human existence, is a 747.Email This Post