You are here, no doubt about it. Its raining and Audrey is sick. I removed the sunscreen from its permanent home on the kitchen counter to the upstairs cupboard. I fear we made our last trip to the lake without realizing it was The Last Trip to the Lake. There is a parade of high schoolers trudging past our house every morning. And the afternoon light reminds me so much of fall swim practice I can smell the chlorine. I can hear the marching band warming up for the football game tonight and later when everything is over, the drum line will escort the player back to the locker room, footsteps and sticks moving in unison.
When I finally turned the calendar page yesterday, so many days late, as if ignorance could delay the subtle and inevitable change, I felt a tightening in my chest at the thought of shortened days and dropping temperatures. What will I do this winter stuck inside with two little kids? I had a thought this morning that come spring I will have read every book in the house to Audrey, including Moby Dick and Colton will have successfully climbed both bookcases. Slight exaggeration, but very much based in truth.
We had a great summer. I will miss it. It will come again next year.