Wednesday, October 27, 2010

dear summer (a strongly worded break-up letter)

Dear Summer (the season, not my friend who lives approximately a mile away from me):

I know it is I who chose to live here in your extreme (and let's face it, sometimes obnoxious) climate, but I'm also fairly certain that the earth has tilted on its axis and it is time to let the fall and winter seasons have a visit. Just a short one, mind'll be back all too soon in about 5 months and you'll come on full-force, I know, but the laws of science say it's time for you to pack your bags.

Like an uninvited houseguest, your time has come and gone. You may now go back to whence you came. You hinted at leaving us this past week, and I got excited. I started wearing long pants and long sleeves...I left my windows open...I stopped using the AC in my car and home, I had accepted your departure. But now, alas, you have come back. 90 degrees tomorrow? Please, know when to say when, Buddy.

I know, I know, you like it here. You are comfortable here. The cacti, roadrunners, dry washes, and Superstition Mountains love you. Squaw Peak, Camelback Mountain, the White Tanks and all their hikers need your dryness. The saguaro are very cozy with you, as are the scorpions and rattlers that I hope I never find in my yard. My suntan will miss you greatly. I get it, you have friends and family that you work very well with. You're preaching to the choir.

However, my dear friend Summer (the season, not actually my dear friend Summer who lives approximately a mile away from me), the rocks, plains, and wildlife of Arizona need a little reprieve. A little time apart. A bit of time away from you so as to miss you, so to speak. The monsoons have vacationed elsewhere and it is time for you to follow. El Nino won't be back for another 2 years, so you need to take a cue from your weather buddies and head south for the winter. The cactus wren, the I-10, and palo verde trees will still be here when you return, I promise. Look at me--see? I'm crossing my heart. I vow, nothing will change.

Please know it's not you, it's me. I need a little time to focus on me right now, and my fall garden. On my childrens' Halloween costumes so they do not sweat in your sweltering heat next Sunday night. We're growing apart, Summer, and I need to reevaluate what makes us tick. I love you, but I'm not in love with you, not on October 26th when my house got up to 82 degrees and my mini-van's AC unit gave out. I'm not ready for a relationship right now, I need to be alone, cooler, and without sunblock on, to find myself again. You want more than I'm willing to give--I'm willing to give you April through the first week in October, but past that, you're just being greedy. I hope we can still be friends, that you'll call or write or send me a little 'what-up' ray of sunshine every now and then, and if you play your cards right, I will welcome you back in April with a swimsuit and a smile.

What do you say, Summer (the season, not my friend who lives approximately a mile away from me)...can we hug it out? And I'll see you next Spring? Late....late Spring?


laurie b said...

you are such a talented writer! i was so amused the whole time i was reading your 'ode to summer'. while the rest of us just say "whew", you compose a letter!

leaner said...

I love this and feel exactly the same way. Sometimes I blame my family for settling here, in the heat and making this Home. I would love a little more diversity and maybe a longer fall/winter/spring time. Oh well, Arizona is Home, and even if I left I know I would find my way back here.

JAVAGIRL said...

Lol you always make me laugh Well written.