.the grief of august.

There’s something about mid-August that always brings a high grief for me, a change coming. I adore summer. It’s the boldest season. I think I love it because of the memory of my childhood: the perfect heat, the ease, the suspension of reality. And as I’ve gotten older, especially after last summer pregnant and this summer with an infant, the heat and wildfire smoke have limited our ability to fully enjoy summer outside, and still, I find myself grieving its ending before it’s even really over.

We’re getting away tomorrow for the first time this summer, and the first time since our camping trip in April. The days have run into each other, flopped into a dogpile, and melted into one. So I have to remind myself of all the good things this summer has held: a whole garden grown and cared for; walks along the river; swims at the pool; fresh fruit cobblers; frozen berries tucked away for fall and winter; library trips; morning walks; farmers markets; garden-fresh first foods for Amado; a beautiful time to be five, six, seven months old.

I think another grief of the ending of summer is the ache for New England. A few days in Maine beside the salty, pungent ocean, or the endless sandy beaches of Wellfleet or North Truro. Maybe this fall. Maybe next year.

In fact, I think my favorite month might actually be September now. Fall provides a kind of freedom and beauty that feels especially right for this phase of life, the promise of crisp morning walks, afternoon hikes, changing colors, the heat of the direct sun with its cooling edges. There is something about fall that feels like an exhale.

This summer felt endless at the start, like it always does. June, and then July. I kept thinking there was so much more time, when in reality the goodbye of summer always seems to begin in mid-August.

I think that’s part of what makes this season so big this year, and yet so contained. I’m so grateful for a season that makes me feel so alive and so overwhelmed with FOMO, and then slowly lets me land in fall and realize: there’s time for it all, if I slow down.