Dear Summer,

Dear Summer,
I only have 7 more days of you. This makes me sad. You have been very good to me during our time together, and I will miss you deeply.
Remember that time when we went to Stonehenge and were too cheap to pay the entrance fee so we took pictures from outside the fence? Or the time that we went on that crazy elimination diet and ate nothing but rice, chicken, and veggies for 5 weeks? I know that you remember the gardening- all the hours we spent together outside, me weeding Morning Glories from the garden, you burning me to a crisp because I forgot to put on sunblock. Or the time that I walked 14 miles in a single day just to see if I could.
I think we learned some things together, too. Like the importance of sun protection, for one. Like the simple pleasure of walking the dogs with my husband after dark.
In the end it's been an endless stream of satisfying and fulfilling experiences these past 9 weeks; fireworks, the salty tang of grilled beef, flowers, coconut popsicles, the smell of wood varnish, and clean floors, cut grass, and chlorine, and honeysuckles, and the noisy streets of Paris on a June morning; so many sweet memories that I will cherish always.
I will remember you when the days grow short and the nights grow cold. I will remember you when the last flowers wilt and their petals scatter in the autumn breeze. I will remember feeling warm. I will remember sleeping the deep, dreamless sleep of an unburdened mind as I lay wrapped in that warmth. I will remember being happy.
Never change, Summer. Never. I love you just the way you are.
I bid you farewell with sadness and hungry anticipation for your return next year,
Camille