Lament For Summer


Can you still remember those moments when we sat and laughed? Time had not meaning and there was joy simply in our living and in the company we shared.

“I’m really excited about this summer.”

“We’re going to have so much fun.”

“There are so many things for us to do.”

Ahh the naivety of the youth I refused to grow out of only a few months ago. How much has changed in the short period between then and now. The clouds overhead were time-lapsing but we didn’t notice; too busy making plans that will never come to fruition. We carried on as if sunshine were endless while the sun was busying itself falling from the sky. Oh if I could just be young again, if I could do this one summer over, and then all the summers preceding, perhaps I would have grown into something different. Perhaps the petals on this rose would have outnumbered the thorns’ points. So many points, yet not one to be found in dreaming. A rose may be easy on the eyes and pleasing to the sense of smell, but when you reach for it the thing is guaranteed to prick your fingers. A rose can lift your spirits, but in the end we all must bleed to pay back the happiness we have taken from this life.

Why must the spring follow after the winter, a stray dog seeking refuge, bringing false hope of warm nights reclining by the fireplace into our lives? When the rain comes and goes and the world around us is green and thriving we always believe in eternal life, despite knowing how fleeting this life is, a mirage at best which fades when we most expect its reality to be manifested.

The green must always fade, the sun’s destiny is to set.

Summer is passing and the leaves will soon wither and fall to the ground, where they can decay into something from which new and better life may some day grow. Are these images a representation of the ever moving cycle that is my life? Should I stop trying to grow for others and accept the fact that I must fade and allow them to grow above me?

Life is too full of unanswered questions, and I am a book of riddles. Each page that turns reveals a new mystery until you reach the end and realize that someone has torn the answers from the back cover. Some questions were never meant to be answered. Some “what if’s?” are answers in themselves. It’s time for me to realize that I will never understand why things are the way they are, why they had to play out as they have, why the fall always follows the summer as if it were summer’s shadow.

I’m tired of asking. I need to let summer run its course again so I can be the fall. A fall which inevitably brings me back to the ground from which we are formed.

Hanging from branches has always scared me anyway.

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