I get that same feeling on July 1st every year. I wake up realizing that May and June are gone so it's a downhill slide right into September. I feel melancholy, that perhaps I wasted those two "summertime" months by not doing "summery" things. Of course it's hard to do summery things when your May looks like this:
That's right. May 11, 2014
So every July first I enter an it'salmostwintersoIhavetohurryanddoeverythingsummerythatIcanpossiblyfitintothemonthofJuly phase.
That officially started today. I wanted to do something summery so I got up early to water the yard.
I sat on the front steps and listened to the sound of irrigation water being sprayed all over my front lawn. It's a soothing sound really, when not accompanied by the loud caw of the neighborhood peacock.
Sprinklers remind me of my childhood--humid Iowa summers spent dashing barefoot across the lawn, halfheartedly avoiding the sting of the jetted water. Now, I just sit and watch because I am aware that what looks like nice clean water is actually run-off from the mountain which may or may not contain cow urine. Adulthood spoils things sometimes.
So for my first day of July, I reminisced about more innocent, cleaner, times. Days like this, back in July of 1965:
I know it looks like I am topless, but I assure you, I am not. My one-piece swimsuit was tri-colored in tan, white, and red. My little brother behind me was also tan, white, and red, depending on whether you were looking at his forearms, his belly, or his freckled cheeks.