Sometime back around May, I renewed a relationship with an old friend. I’d heard he would be coming to town, and my eagerness for his arrival was evident to all. Our first reunion was exciting. I see now that he might have come on a little too strong at first, swaggering about, secure in his welcome, but I was willing to overlook his brashness at the time.
Tired of windy weather and pollen blowing everywhere, I welcomed Summer. He whispered hotly in my ear, tempting me with sweet strawberries, promising peaches and mumbling about melons. Oh, the melons. He did not disappoint.
Summer returned to me with the strong personality I’d remembered and longed for. I was enamored. He was, in a word, hot.
As we got to know each other again, parts of Summer’s essence started to wear on me. The soft, warm caresses of May turned into searing agony as July met August. I started to think that, perhaps, Summer didn’t really care about me. The spark of our early relationship became stifling and oppressive.
Where I once reveled in Summer’s light, I now found myself hiding during the day, daring to venture out in the evening when the long shadows left only lingering traces of the afternoon’s heat. I went so far as to complain about Summer in front of the children. I’d been awestruck for so long, but somehow, the pent-up frustration overtook me.
In a moment of weakness, I wavered. Fall came quietly one September’s eve and whispered to me in the dark through an open window. Fall reminded me of crisp autumn apples, bushels of butternut squash and wonderful walnuts. I was tempted.
The next morning, I ventured out in the cool of the day and noticed the pomegranates on the trees blushing a deep red. I wondered if they knew my secret: I had fallen for Fall.
In my rush to embrace my new love, I began to despise Summer. I asked him, none too politely, to leave. He protested at first, lingering as he tried to convince me that it was not over between us. Finally, reluctantly, he moved on.
Fall came to me openly then, bringing his promises with him. Trees brought forth their ripening bounty in response to Fall’s coaxing. They were full of blushing pomegranates, walnuts, persimmons, sweet apples and juicy Asian pears. Fall brought plenty of pumpkins, and we gladly traded in our zucchini for butternut squash.
My new love has proven fickle. I’d hoped he might stick around a while, but I am beginning to fear that he has tired of me already. I should have known not to trust him, the way he came to me, sneaking in the window like that. I am beginning to fear that Fall intends to take off at the first opportunity, leaving his cruel cousin Winter knocking on my door.
I fret now that my words to Summer were too hasty. I’ve called him a few times, but I think he blocked my number. If you are out there, Summer, I just want to say I’m sorry. I miss you already. I’ll be waiting for you next May.
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