I won't even hope you didn't listen, for I know you did. Like you did last year. Like you will next. Even though the jar will be empty when you twist the lid off. Summer does not keep. Never has, never will.
But, if you are like me, you were immune to the blandishments of August, for I am a child of the transitional seasons. Spring & fall, when my favorite temperature (63 degrees) is more & more likely to occur, even if only in passing. That is why I like living in the mountains. (Here's a picture of a mountain cloudburst spilling over the gutters at my parents' house in Nye, Montana, where my love of mountains formed.)
I drove to Montana in August & attended my niece's wedding & a family reunion & played many a good card game with my parents. I stopped in the saloons of Meeteetse, Wyoming, on the way up, a secret favor to a street musician I know who is writing a book based on dreams of a sporting woman's life. The favor is still a secret, for I have not yet happened upon my friend & her guitar. Soon, I hope.
Oh, there will be more news in sweet September. Creations of all kinds. (Including the Pearcumber Chardonnay Smoothie!) I sent a photo & 2 poems & 2 stories & 1 essay to the Artist's & Writer's Quarterly. Also entered 3 photographs in a juried show that required the artist's hand to be directly involved. I did watercolor details. Will know soon if my photos were accepted for the show, but I had SO much doing the detailing that the price of admission was already well spent.
So what did you do during your summer vacation? Get out the blue-lined paper & the number 2 pencil. A perfect segue into the
214. Write about some summer. Perhaps this one that has just passed. Perhaps one from your childhood (or your second childhood...) or a summer yet to come. Write a summer you wish you'd had. Rewrite a summer that wasn't to your taste. There will be no grades, no red marginal notes, no gold stars. This is your summer, & what anyone else thinks is irrelevant.