How is it already August 20th?” I squeaked, with the kind of incredulity normally reserved for life’s most alarming moments, such as sleeping past 8am. But August 20th it was. While we were away over the last four weekends—five for M. & C.—summer happened.
If it felt rare to be home for the weekend, it felt downright impossible that we had absolutely no plans. With parts of the next two weekends already spoken for, we fell back into a lazy summer routine that we’ve had for as long as we’ve been here.
We set the weekend on autopilot. We walked through Prospect Park. Charlotte showed me the waterfall or, rather, where the water would fall if some park employee had remembered to turn it on when they clocked in. (As if I needed a reminder that nothing in this city is natural, not even the nature.) I bought
way too many almost enough heirloom tomatoes at the greenmarket. We ate cheese sandwiches and drank saison. Charlotte excitedly pointed out fish and turtles at the koi pond at the Botanic Garden. I even took a 20 minute nap.
It was two days to pause and get our bearings, one last check of the coordinates before beginning our descent into the end of the year. Yes, I told myself, summer would soon be over and the mad rush through fall and winter would be upon us. Soon. But not quite yet.
This wasn’t just a figurative breath of fresh air, either. Sunday night, after some furious rain, the weather changed and ushered in the kind of air we haven’t breathed since the miserable spring earlier this year, if not longer. We woke up to clean, fresh air, clear skies and a brisk breeze. It’s temporary, I know—after all, it’s onlyAugust 20th. But summer blinked; fall just might be possible.