The sun ripens the tomatoes and each day the girls inspect the garden and give me status updates. I sip pink lemonade and work on the yard while the girls run around like feral children. They are covered in layers of sticky funk and dirty grime. The blue chalk on their cheeks seems like a permanent feature, no longer do I double-take, thinking they've developed a freakish bruise. Nope, it is summer and that is how it goes. We are all covered in tiny bruises and insect bites from time spent outside. Actually, the insect bites are all me. For some reason I am like a blood decoy for mosquitoes, no need for citronella candles, just invite me to you next outdoor party.
We paint on the back patio most days. We eat our two out of three meals on the porch. The sparrow's late summer babies are just learning the ropes and often test out their new skills where we can watch them as we eat. The cooing of the doves, the screeching of the jays, the occasional whizz of an invisible hummingbird are our music and entertainment.
Summer is starting its grand wind down. The leaves are losing their color, the apples on our tree are ripe. The grass is still green, but you can tell its about redy to give up the ghost. The morning air is crisp and the night air has just a bit of cool to it now. A few more weeks and it will be done. We will move on to our six days of fall and then, before we know it there will be snow (and wind). The windows will be closed and we will gaze out our back window, onto the patio, and dream of summer days while we sip our hot tea and eat our winter stews. We will relearn how to drive in the winter and remind ourselves that it takes twenty extra minutes to get everyone in their winter gear. That will be good too, but I will most certainly be dreaming of summer.