I dread your coming. To speak quite plainly, you are an inconsiderate guest. You bring with you long, hot days that make me cranky and tired, swarming mosquitoes, allergies, tics. I wish I could usher you quickly in, smell your fresh cut grass, take one trip to the beach, sip lemonade for an hour or two, then bid adieu and welcome Autumn to stay as long as it likes. But as many things as I can do, I cannot change the seasons, and so you come. And every year, you tame me with the overwhelming magic of what you can be.
Like after dinner runs through the backyard sprinkler, fully clothed (Mom too).
Or wet hugs in the sunshine from friends who've come to play.
You are bare bellies, and tickle-y beetles...
You are bonfires with friends and magic nights when the sun is still up at 10:00.
You are sparklers and fireworks watched from the roof...
You are the anticipation of movies we've waited forever to see (Expecto Patronum!).
Summer, I have underestimated you. But I thank you now for the memories you've helped our family to make. Alright. You can stay. For a few more weeks anyway. And maybe--maybe-- next year you could come again.