Things always end in the Summer

In the middle of the second major heatwave of the season, the City cut the wildflowers along the footpath.  I mean they cut everything 30 inches on either side of the pavement, but since the flowers were my friends, all I saw was that they cut the flowers, even though they actually mowed indiscriminately.  And it must have been a chore for the labourer in this heat, so his feet were heavy when he made hay of the prettiest parts of the Summer.  But I can't get to that right now; I'm still reeling from the loss of chicory, and the other pinks and yellows and blues whose names I was just beginning to learn.

"Program, get your program", I heard the barker call on my way to the bleachers.  I turned once and caught his eye, and looked at the program in his hand and back into his eyes--all the while his eyes following mine--but then he looked back to his hand, and again into my eyes and he said "You can't tell the player without a card"!

Did it matter that I couldn't tell a lupin from so many lupin lookalikes and leaners,

like pickerelweed,

or either of those from viper's bugloss or blueweed

and anyhow got nostalgic at that point for delphinium that grows just as well in the Scottish haar as in the Flemish mist.

In such matters, the only important thing was to remember how grateful you are for a decorated plate, even if bears the name Blue Willow and is anyway a European fake of a once ineffable gift from the China Sea.

Just then I remembered things always end in the Summer.  Oh, sure, it was a little difficult not to notice when school let out, but, I was constantly reminded, you get--you've got, you're having and why aren't you enjoying--Summer holidays, right?  Yes, but if being around people you know and with whom you are familiar gave you joy, then to be deprived of that was surely a torture.  Or maybe the hurt was only temporary--a battle wound from which you would heal, even if that meant hobbling on a crutch or eating grapes from a hook for the rest of your days.

For some Summer marked the end of lessons as well.  For others it was the beginning of camps and cottaging, toasting mallows Smorish golden, double barreled on a stick

and blowing up Pinocchio Jiffy Pop, so called because the foil grew when it was put on the spot (so to speak) and from time to time practically needed to be surgically bled like an opium poppy for fear it might actually explode, spoiling any amuses gueules, or amusement for one's lips and tongue.

Still in all there would be time to tell stories of how we spent our Summer holidays,

but that was after Labour Day
when the days were beginning to shorten
and shadows were starting to lengthen again
when school let back in
when it was time
in turn
to lose the gift of Summer
if only just long enough to remember
how good it had been to forget
even momentarily
that you had shed the previous grade
(repeating a grade was a fairly unusual step and skipping a grade nearly unimaginable)
and were now trying on the pants of a new school year
fortunate for having avoided store boughts that were too short in the in seam
and made floods rise at the ankle
lucky to be able to grow beltless into into the waist
without the shame of a belt that had been punched post purchase
or a boxer elastic that always had more take than give
and was second only to a jock strap
in the list of uncool
back to school
accessories

later we would learn
how chic it was to dress only partly fresh
new was always overrated
but there were hacks
like dusting up one's runners
or sleeping in a jean jacket
infused with barbecue smoke
and stroked with a thin patina of grease
still
real style was something else again
a new top with raggedy pants
as long as they were washed
a baggy shirt with skinny jeans
that could make anything thin and interesting
a scarf to lighten hair
that was more sexy than presentable
having last been rinsed in the Day Two fashion
(I heard a perfectly respectable girl say giddily you can wear jeans twice
so why not scoffingly sport Day Two Hair?)
a necklace to draw the eyes down
and steal a blush from the cheeks

but there would be time to pick up those things
and others of which it would be tedious to speak
unless merely to record
for later release
like fades and feathered hair
and bangs and fringes
crews and crops
raglans and three quarter sleeves
and anything else that was neither here nor there.