End of Summer?

Summer strolled up and laid itself in a hammock today, smiling. If a day can be an icon for a while season, today was that day.  It was sun filled, with an aching pure loveliness at every turn.

Thinking back, I was filled with equanimity and didn't even notice if things were going wrong.  Wrong became right and then it all stopped being much of anything at all.  Maybe it was so pretty that I stopped paying attention to anything and fell asleep.  I could be sleep-writing right now.  I think it's likely, judging by the inert feeling of my mind, the lack of any inclination to bustle or be productive.  I am sloth itself, and summer is cradling me in its warm soft arms.

Summer's pleasantness is so blissful that I am made stupid by it.  It feels like love.  I have no worries, no aches or needs.  I am like a cloud or a sailboat on a calm quiet sea.  I drift.  My eyes lose focus and I am emptied of longing or hope.  Surely not a lack of hope?  Yes, even hope is lulled and lolls in the warmth of this summer, so late in coming 'round.

I stop caring when I am contented and relaxed.  It will take getting cold again or too hot before I am nudged to take up my chores and errands.

There was not a cloud in the sky today, not a wisp of fog anywhere.  The blue heaven overhead was all-encompassing and perfectly perfect.  Cars hummed along the streets without a horn and without being shouldered to the side to let screaming sirens by.  No, all was calm and peace.

This is a fine thing, this irresolute happiness, this relaxed and slumbering passage through a day.  What does it mean?  I think it means nothing except the world around me is reaching the nadir of the season and now will gradually descend into Fall, where we will see brilliant colors in the sycamores and cottonwoods backlit against brilliant blue autumn skies, when a trembling chill rises up from the ground and twists itself around our ankles in the early morning.  When it's ready, it will come.