I step out of the grocery store carrying a bag of nectarines and sense something in the air. I stop and sniff. The August day is warm and sunny, but a slight coolness floats on air currents and though the sun shines, the yellowness of the light has shifted slightly, paled a bit.
If I look closely, I will see a few yellow leaves on the birch trees as I drive up the Gunflint Hill.
Summer has peaked and soon will end.
I realize what has happened. Fisherman’s Picnic is over and autumn is knocking at the door, ever so slightly but irrevocably.
Soon I will feel enthusiastic about fall colors, football, October skies and corduroy slacks, but not yet. I stop for a moment and contemplate. If I could go back and tweak the summer a bit, what would I do?
I would add one more perfect June morning when loons call hauntingly and bird song fills the air in the early predawn light.
I would bring back the little green tree frog who spent one night on my flower planter on the back deck and never returned. I would lengthen those minutes watching a robin splash and bathe near my dock in Devil Track Lake.
I would plant more petunias, pick strawberries in Canada, spend more time throwing rocks in the Big Lake and stop on the scenic overlook more often to view the town and harbor.
I’d play more golf and get better scores (if I could tweak things) make more potato salad and add several more hot July days to the mix, although when the temps and humidity were high, I was first to complain.
One thing I wouldn’t change…the many evening hours I spent sitting in a deck chair alongside my husband with Magoo on my lap and Goldie on the deck, looking out over Devil Track Lake.
From the earliest bit of spring warmth to the hottest mosquito filled evening, I have luxuriated, reveled and inhaled summer from that chair, drinking in the sights, smells and sounds of summer evenings.
As the slight feel of autumn air touches my face, I walk across the parking lot and get into my car to go about my daily errands. I no longer feel regrets for a bygone summer. Instead I remember the long hours sitting on the deck and enjoying it.
One odd thought crosses my mind. Is my “deck sitting” a modern version of “old folks” sitting in rocking chairs on porches?
Probably.
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