Dearest Summer,
As I end my beach week in Long Beach Island, surrounded by family, friends and soft serve ice cream shops, my heart aches. As the nights get cooler on the island, I know it's your way of preparing summer lovers like myself that soon it will be time to put away the faded jean shorts and bring out the sweaters and boots as the temperatures begin to drop. Don't get me wrong, I love fall as much as the next pumpkin spice latte obsessed girl. There's just something about the buzz of fireflies over a pool on a 90-degree night, or the crunch of rainbow sprinkles on a Strollo's vanilla and chocolate swirl mixing with salty sea lips after a day at the beach that the other nine months of the year just doesn't do for me. My tan will sadly fade, and my hair will become darker, but the memories you give me each year will endure. There's something magical about June, July and August that fades away during Labor Day weekend, leaving us wanting and hoping for it to come again around Memorial Day. Those warm and sunny memories are what get us through some of the bleakest days of winter into the warmth of spring and summer once again.
Soon enough, fall will fade into winter, and the joy of finding sand dollars on the beach will be replaced with the joy of finding your most coveted gift under the Christmas tree, or feeling the first flakes of snow on the tip of your nose. Those feelings are all quite nice, but nothing truly compares to you, Summer. Your warmth leaves me dizzy, spinning in the sunlight until dusk forces me inside, if only for awhile. You give us the greatest gift of all -- sun-kissed days that turn into nights full of memories by moonlight. Time passes differently by the light of the sun and moon as the temperature heats and cools us down, and gives us a buzz of freedom and excitement. Can you feel that during a blizzard in the middle of January? I think not.
But sure as a thunderstorm in August, you will come again. Showing off your arrival as the buds on trees which turn into flowers, signaling summer lovers to change their stuffy, wool closets into tank top havens and to upgrade their old beach chairs to new Tommy Bahamas. New flip flops will be purchased and we will sing Bruce all the way down to exit 105, pointing out the Bennies we love to hate, but admit to keeping our small towns alive. We will relish the first dive into the freezing ocean, and praise the sun for finally warming our skin again.
So as I await your arrival, I will simply burn my Pink Sands Yankee candle until it is time to go bikini shopping once more.
Love Always,
Sarah
