grass 2

Summer is more a friend than a season. Winter is a season. Fall is a season. Spring is.

They all make their appearance and leave at the most inconvenient times. But not Summer. Summer comes right when you need it the most. Summer would stay forever, except for the fact that fall is selfish.

And I know Summer. I know how it thinks. Giving us the gift of longer days, in the hopes that we would see more, and in seeing more that we would feel more.

It dreams for us.

In the stars.

Even when we close our windows to their whimsical whisperings.

It’s misunderstood too. I know, because I’ve listened.

The Summer heat isn’t offered in merciless cruelty, but in compassion for the bitter days ahead. It can’t take us through the winter, but it can give us warmth for the road.

And I think I’m Summer’s favorite, although it would never say so out loud. When I want to see the ocean, the tree leaves roar like crashing waves. When I’m all alone, younger days become alive again just to be my family. And when I’m not the person I want to be, Summer reminds me of all that I’m becoming in the subtle moments of bravery accomplished within its realms.

I’m not sure why it loves me the most. Maybe because I took the time to get to know it. I’ve always treated it like a person, and not a mindless season that comes, goes, and doesn’t feel.

Or maybe it’s because I was born to its sunny skies right in the middle of July, and we’ve been connected ever since.

It was even there when I was born again. Watching. Celebrating.

I’m so thankful that I was born to a friend, and not to a season.

Whatever the case, Summer is my favorite too. ❤

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