Even the sun, in all its wisdom, yearns wearily for summer. It stretches its arms, holding out as long as it can to savor the splendor of a summer eve. Against cloudless skies, it paints fireworks or pinks, oranges, and reds to celebrate the onset of the most charming season.
The arching hills of green answer the sun’s anguished plead to stretch the summer days even longer. Speckled with flowers of white and yellow, the ground smiles up at the sky with a relaxed retreat, elated to soak up the sun’s content glow. Grey-brown grass is quickly replaced with brilliant greens trying to soften the footfalls of young children who run wildly through the soil.
The flowers who slept all year in deep melancholy dreams wake eagerly to join the festivities. Hurriedly they dress themselves in their best clothes, trying to make a good impression on the sun’s first summer gaze. They throw their arms up in blissful dance, unfurling new leaves to capture the sun’s rays with frivolous hopes of savoring some for the winter.
Tenderly the trees follow the flower’s lead, drowsily waking to the sun’s eager heat. Once the first leaf trends a trail, a floodgate of vibrant colors arises zealously to fill the empty branches. They stretch their arms up towards the sun, creating green blooms of light in an otherwise glossy blue sky.
The birds quickly notice the trees welcoming waves and return home just in time for the summer festivities. Songs of joy and longing fill the cool wind, letting each note linger with a jubilant intensity. The loud gossip of the bluejay’s song becomes indistinguishable from the sweet harmonies swirling in the wind.
Once the bird’s song falls onto the riverbed’s shoulders it yawns and stretches in time to catch the warming sun. With arms stretched wide, the water graciously collects every last drop of sunlight creating a glistening warmth coating its cool folds. Melted drops from the sun are caught lazily on the river tongue as the river is too relaxed to swallow them. The sundrops weave a glimmering quilt of sunlight, trapping the summer’s friendly heat on the surface. The cool currents from the melancholy winter are trapped deep below the sun’s grasp and take their turn to drip drowsily into the depths.
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The last amber-brown and yellow leaves take their cue to leave as they snuggle comfortably into the dewy earth. While they drift softly into the earth’s embrace, they hear promises of autumn once their turn comes again.
Summer doesn’t start when school bells ring one last time or when June 20th rolls around. Only once the earth has softly coaxed the hills awake and speckled them with fragile flowers. Only once the trees have bloomed hungrily in the empty sky. Only once the flowers have unfurled their anxious leaves in heed of a blue sky. Only once the birds have spread the joyful news in a sweet, cool melody. Only once the riverbed has tanned a glowing blue that glistens eagerly. Only once the sun wakes every last slumbering memory of summer does summer really begin.
