My favorite season has always been summer. If you have been to my part of the world (south Texas), you would understand why. No matter how much everyone romanticizes all the other seasons, for me the only one worth mentioning is summer.
In the fall, everything turns gray and brown and stays that way for nearly eight months, none of those beautiful russets and crimsons one sees in other parts of the United States.
Winters are more of the same except our Winter Wonderland is not snowdrifts and crystalline icicles. It is bitter cold weather and clay mud.
Unlike all the gobbledygook put out by Disney or the Lifetime Channel, we spend the majority of our spring waiting for the first Bluebonnet to bloom, and that usually doesn’t happen until sometime in May.
Summer is the only time we get to enjoy a storybook season. We finally get to play with the other colors in the Crayola box. For a brief period in time, our trees leaf, our flowers burst, our fruits and vegetables flourish.
Soon though, long before summer ends on our calendars, everything has been harvested and all that remains are sad stalks and bare fields. The last of the greenery is hanging on for dear life, dying for a drink of water and a respite from the heat.
And it is time again to say farewell to summer - back again to another eight months of gray and brown nothing.