There’s a football game tonight? And a lot of other games on Saturday, this Saturday? Are you sure about that?
It’s still summer. More accurately, in Atlanta it’s been summer again for the last week or so. We had weeks of wet, gray days and October-like chills, but finally the sun has reasserted itself. Right now the thermometer on the back deck reads 90 degrees and the pool looks crystal-clear and inviting, even if those darn frogs are still around.
Yes, the water is a bit cooler, and I’ve had to pull up the blanket on the bed these last several nights. It just can’t be time for football, again, already. We just got a new table-top grill and haven’t even had a chance to use it once. So easy: you turn it on, load in some wood chips for flavor, and in no time at all you’ve got the juiciest, tenderest chicken you’ve ever tasted. Ready to eat with some fresh corn and tomatoes, those hulking red ones so sweet they could almost pass for dessert. Nothing fancy, nothing better in the world.
I know, the price of tomatoes is up again. Lots of school buses on the road in the morning, too. I haven’t seen any lightning bugs for a while; the big yellow butterflies are out instead. There’ll probably be dragonflies in the air at the beach when we go there for a weekend. But our grass is pure green from all that rain, the crepe myrtles by the driveway still need trimming, and the days are still pleasantly long. So it’s still summer. Isn’t it?
Pretty soon, I’ll be yelling, “Go Blue!” to anyone in earshot, probably my wonderful, tolerant wife. I wouldn’t want to be doing anything else at that moment. But won’t it still be summer?
Please?