Letter for the Better

Dear Summer, I know you gon' miss me. For we been together like Nike Airs and crisp tees. -Jay Z

Well- what can I say, Summer? We had a good run, but the chilly winds of change are blowing. The longest days and torrid nights are gone. The June solstice gives way to autumnal equinox. There is nothing comforting about bracing for a cold winter. I know you like I know my own name. Here at this final hour, I close my eyes and feel the sun on my face- though it has set so long ago. I close my eyes and see Bermuda blue and dinosaur bones. I try to blink them away- but blinking brings it all into focus. I see myself through Summer's eyes. Jayne, Jayne, Jayne...Jayne smiling, Jayne walking, Jayne talking. Thanks to you, I know what the Rich Coast looks like at 7 a.m. though I never knew the way to San Jose.

Today instead of ankle strapped stilts, I pulled on boots- clunky and heavy...So much for dancing on water. But Summer, I know you like I know my own name. I always knew the warmth would last only for a time. Seasons are such predictably tricky things. Warm, cold, forgiving, soothing, surprising, cruel, unforgivable. The only thing we can ever be sure of is how they make us feel. You learn to think twice before you step once- because there are jagged little seashells under all of that white sand. Once you bleed, that trip to the beach suddenly feels more like punishment.

Summer, you and I have shared the best and worst of times. Times ripened by nostalgia, times destroyed by the marble that tips the scale from fantasy. I still love to dress for you. A bared shoulder, a flirty skirt over bronzed thighs. What makes a woman feel more womanly than Summer? But the heat swells the pavement below spirited feet, creates mirages on highways. Just when you think you've neared the water- it disappears. But there is beauty in knowing the real thing is on the horizon. That some thirsts are inevitably quenched- not when we want them, but when it is absolutely needed. I will not long for you again, Summer. I will not celebrate you in some other part of the universe, like the Druids at Stonehenge. Let them sing your praises now.

Your sun was damaging. Sunburn is too much for this Brown girl with the poison pen. If I could, I would write this all in Red. Burn the corner of the document for added effect but what good would it do, when this letter will never be postmarked. I will not wrap myself in a scarf, don a woolen hat and gloves, brave the icy sidewalks just to drop this in the mail box. Not when I know you'll be back someday and I'll be gone. Picture me, stargazers ever blossoming from my eyes- never needing Summer again.

Summer smiles, but summer goes. And winter waits behind it.

Eternally in Spring,
Jayne