Summer Love

On a Fly Drinking Out of His Cup by William Oldys

Busy, curious, thirsty fly! Drink with me and drink as I: Freely welcome to my cup, Couldst thou sip and sip it up: Make the most of life you may, Life is short and wears away. Both alike are mine and thine Hastening quick to their decline: Thine's a summer, mine's no more, Though repeated to threescore. Threescore summers, when they're gone, Will appear as short as one!                               William Oldys. 1687–1761 This summer is gone.  Labor Day came and went and took summer with it.  I love the "fly poem" that my dad used to quote all the time.  Its message only became poignant to me as I got older and more able to feel time slipping as quickly as pool water out of my cupped hands.  Never is the feeling that "life is short and wears away" more present than when we're walking away from the empty swimming pool on the last day of summer, the mountains telegraphing their intense colors in the saturated evening glow.  The illuminated peaks of the so-familiar mountains seem as reluctant as we are to let go of the August light.  Each sun-kissed child I claim as mine will be one year older when we come back next, and I almost can't bear it.  I want time to stop on this perfect day for awhile, just before the sun slips down, and let me have my little kids for one more dive, one more toss in the air, one more warm-towel snuggle, my nose buried in their chlorine-crispy hair. This Labor Day, the last day of summer, we all woke up at the cabin, surrounded by a rustic and heavenly manifestation of Grandma and Grandpa's love for us.  We spent the morning with cousins, throwing logs into the fire and laughing, eating together and remembering other fires and other meals.  We ended up at the pool under a cloudless sky to claim the snack bar treat we waited all summer to choose.  The Last Day Treat.  We earned it through patience, and it was sweet.  As we drove away from the pool, I said, "What a perfect day!"  Ruby said, "And to make it even more perfect, now we'll just keep driving until we get to San Francisco." In some strange way, I loved what Ruby said.  She reminded me that the future holds more perfect days, more lofty dreams, more family trips, more cabin campfires, more Last Day Treats, more whiffs of sunscreen from my baby's downy head and a myriad of experiences we haven't even imagined yet.   Go ahead, summer.  You can go now.  I love you, but autumn needs me.