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.
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