The beginning of the end of summer for me starts in mid July.
The temperature is oppressive. Baking heat, wilted blooms, sun bleached bones. The slow, withered death of a season. The half realized dream of fall starting with thoughts of school books and new shoes.
Autumn is on all our minds when we’re hiding in the shade, drinking lemonade, sticky with popsicle through the gradual cooling of August. Craving breezes and misty mornings. We’re killing summer in our heads already by the time summer is half gone.
Winter wheat is harvested in July. Only strong sunflowers survive the long, wilting days into the autumn. Animals die in the heat, sinking back into the soil with only parched bones to show they were there.
And yet, the death of this season is beautiful. I remember thosedays when I was a child that seemed never ending, but short at the same time. Cornflower blue skies, hot concrete, chlorine. Arriving home with skinned knees and sunburns. Smelling of dirt and sunshine - the perfume of a summer childhood. Dust motes floating in the golden glow of a sunset as my sleepy eyes closed, planning another summer day in a small world. Everything in balance.
Information on print quality and care can be found here.