Summer

      How can I tell that it's summer rather than spring?

      I can tell when I can hear the buzzing hum of a lawnmower far away in the distance. I can tell when the sun envelops me with a warm glow that makes me feel like a lightbulb in a blanket, but in contrast, the wind blows soft and cool, slipping by, caressing me with airy kisses as it goes.

      It is summer when, after the dull gray skies of winter, all the colors burst exceptionally vivid. As I look outside, the grass is a fresh green, bushes with sharp yellow leaves grow in the backyard - cherry blossoms shed milky white petals on the cobbled stone steps leading down our porch and past the white picket fence.
To the right, trees line the street with every color imaginable: pink, mauve, crisp granny-smith-apple and deep forest green. To the left, an American flag snaps in the wind, a wind catcher's silver tinkling accompanies the breeze, and stone rabbits peep out from behind bushes in the neighbor's garden.

      Children are laughing and playing by the pond, and adults walk their dogs or push strollers along or pull red rumbling wagons, bulky with babies and toys. You can find teenagers, cellphones in hand, ambling near the pond, having been lured away from their computers by the joy they hear outside their windows.

      Summer is a time for porch swings to creak, doorbells to ring, scooters to unfold and flip-flops to appear. The pool will open and school will close, sending home legions of kids. Soon, you will be able to hear the chatter of crowds, splashing and whistles, the music-box jingles from the ice cream man and one night, the hiss crackle popping of fireworks and soda cans as we gather to watch the sky light up with patriotism.

      The sun, like a magnet, draws us outdoors to meet our neighbors and friends. We exhale the stale air from indoors, replacing it with the fresh oxygenated knowledge that we are alive.

      Sometimes we overheat, and flock to fill up stadiums, theaters, and the mall, where we wander aimlessly, blasted with icy jets from air conditioners, until it's time to step out into the heat again.

      Summer is the barbecue smoke that means charred meat. It's the kids poking bugs with sticks, their clothes covered in soil, heads bowed together, one ear pricked to listen for the sound of their mother's voice.

      Summer is when memories are made and filed away so that in the chill of winter, when each breath manifests as a puff, we can close our eyes and feel the sun on our skin again. Summer is what we count down to, and hold onto, and the time of the year when flowers, trees, birds, bees, the wind, the water, and everything else is at its liveliest.

      I can tell it's summer when I smile upon waking up, and smile upon closing my eyes. Summer warms my heart and lightens my spirit, and I hope it does the same for everyone else, too.

     Happy early summer to you all, and many more.