The end of August and I feel a little sad. The end of summer and I feel the loss. As the leaves fall and the grass dries and the sun’s visits get shorter and shorter, I mourn just a bit. The way you mourn what has been loved. Summer’s funeral is near and this year I remember her in eulogy.

Summer was a sweet friend. She arrived fresh and green and full of promise. She offered long, hot days with very little wind, and nights of booming thunder and crazy skies of streaking light.  She was days of busy friendship, and days of quiet aloneness. She was a picture of transformation, captured gratefully, photo by photo. She was boys with all their cape-wearing adventures. She was baby birds and baby goats and baby grasshoppers and growing up.

She was flower and fruit and harvest.

She was loss and sorrow, and she was starting over.

She was plans carried through, and plans left unfinished.

She was what she was meant to be. She was a season in my life. She has filled my treasure box with memories and she will not be forgotten.