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The end is near.
No, not that one. The end of summer.
The earmark, for many, was Labor Day, which each year is kind of like the starting gun for the race to autumn.
I say bring it on.
Summer, as I might have mentioned in previous columns, is not my favorite season, especially in years with lots of 90-plus days. Those usually translate into days with heat indices of more than 100, and that’s just wrong.
In fact, in my hierarchy of preference of seasons, summer comes after spring, which comes after winter, which comes after the top spot: fall. Sometimes spring and winter switch rankings, but the top and bottom are always the same.
Yeah. Summer’s in last place.
That’s not to say I don’t enjoy a nice summer day. A good day of temperatures in the mid- or upper-70s with low humidity and maybe some of those spongy, brilliantly-white clouds to provide intermittent stretches of shade are always welcome in my book.
But those tend to be the exception rather than the rule.
More often than not, a summer day around here means being able to hold a raw piece of bacon in my hand and watch it sizzle until it’s done. OK, so that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but you get the point. (And now I’m craving bacon.)
Still, it’s not like I absolutely hate summer, and there are many aspects of summer I enjoy. But all in all it’s a doomed relationship, so I’ve decided to break it off with Summer.
Here, then, is my Dear Joan letter to Summer:
We must end our relationship. It’s not you; it’s me.
No, wait. It is you.
When we first started seeing each other just a few months ago I thought we had such a warm, comfortable relationship. But you’ve burned me once too often.
Yes, you are hot, but you’re also very intense at times.
Your occasional stormy demeanor clouds my judgment about you. Sometimes, out of nowhere, you’re just all wet. More often than not we go through dry spells, and you leave me thirsting for something more.
Those cloudless, starry nights with cool breezes were much too rare. In fact, it you weren’t so stuffy things might be different. Who knows?
Don’t get me wrong, Summer. You are bright, and you have a lot to offer the right guy. It’s just that I’m not that guy.
Sure, I appreciate those days you encouraged me to fish or enjoy a picnic, but I don’t like having to sweat it out, not knowing from one day to the next if you’ll let up on our heated exchanges.
And, yes, I’ve enjoyed the light you’ve brought into my life, even though the days seemed long.
But it is not fair to either of us to continue. We both know that.
As I understand it you were planning to leave me in a couple of weeks anyway, so this letter should not come as a surprise. I wish I could say I’ve enjoyed every moment with you, but let’s not tarnish what little joy we had with lies.
I have no doubt we’ll see each other again, and I’d like to think we can remain on friendly terms, but that’s up to you.
Farewell, Summer. When you go, don’t look back. I know I won’t.
P.S. Please take your pink floaties with you.
Robert Villanueva can be reached at (270) 505-1743.