by Heather Vandenengel
I love how the last few weeks of summer are spent talking about summer’s end and evaluating how we lived it. “It was a good summer,” we say, as if to reassure ourselves that we made the most of it, spent enough days at the beach, saved enough memories to last us through another winter. Every change–the sun setting sooner, the early morning and late evening chill–is noted and interpreted as the end of something bright and warm and the beginning of something colder and darker.
Summer is a contact sport and our bodies collect all the markings of having lived and moved under the sun. Leaner, more freckled and exposed, bruised, blistered and tanned, I’ll be sad to see my summer body fade into its paler self.
Yet as someone who finds energy in change and has a low tolerance for mourning the inevitable, I’m fine with seeing this season through and not looking back.
It was a good summer, though. It was enough.