Summer is so short, and winter is so long. I didn’t want August to hurry by. The hot months were an excuse for laziness. For leisurely lunches holding slippery glasses of ice tea, for sitting in an Adirondack chair and reading on a summer afternoon, for walking in the evening after dinner, and watching the sun go down, first slowly, and then suddenly, to see it drop. And then the encore when the spreading afterglow paints the whole sky pink, rose and red, each sunset paints its own canvas, different from all the others.
I don’t want to give up swimming in the lake which pulls me in by its lake smell, by its bouncing windy waves of water. The lake is different from the pool which has boundaries. In the pool I can count laps and emerge satisfied. In the lake I can only measure progress against the shore except when I swim against forceful waves, I have to work twice as hard to stay in place. I cannot measure progress. But I am free to swim in any direction. I am immersed in something larger than I can comprehend, not as large as the ocean, which suggests infinity, but larger than anything I know. The lake too, has boundaries but they are distant: the Adirondacks to the west and Burlington to the north. But I cannot swim there; I remain a small creature in a wide expanse.
As I debate when to head for shore, I try to imagine the lake in winter, with its dull hard surface, hard enough to drive a truck across and freeze a fish in place. I force myself to visualize this seemingly impossible transformation. Cold waves spitting on the rocks, turning to long toothed icicles. Can this be? If we could delete the fall months, which provide a gradual preparation for winter, we would linger over summer longer. Each soft breeze on a sun splashed day would seem a miracle, in contrast to the biting mouth of winter.
On the last days of August and the first days of September, I anticipate the coming drama. If I make the effort, I can swim a little longer. But my short breath and cold skin, tell me it is time. I head for shore, refreshed, almost ready for the next season.
