Dr. Dale Moore

Essayist, bloggerist, philosopherist & ramblerist

Right about now is when I begin to come to the stark and chilling realization that before we know it, summer will be over. You’re saying, “Geeez man, you are chugging down a half-empty glass of water.” I know, I know. You have to admit though, there is plenty of evidence that the end of summer is a chain reaction of man-made carnage. My first sense of this impending doom is around the end of June when all the temporary flower huts start the 60% sell-off of their remaining plants which by a strange coincidence,  coincides with the annual raising of the fireworks tents. Ahhhh, what a glorious moment, punks buying punks. Then, if only for a day, the grand-daddy of them all, the 4th of July.

Talk about getting screwed, the 4th of July is a holiday moment that can only be savored for 24 hours, primarily after dark and only by specific ordinance outside the city limits.  Would the founding forefathers and foremothers stood for such regulation?  Have you noticed there is a strange lull immediately following the 4th of July?  For a few days just after the 4th you hear the sound of an occasional rogue firecracker pop somewhere in the distance — then eventually the sound of the great nothing.

Still, you buck up, shake it off and get excited knowing that there is still tons of summer, right? Labor Day is light-years away. Then it happens. The portable signs start to pop up to alert us in late July, “Back to School Sale!!”  You do your best to ignore this assault on your summertime-sensibilities. Mid-August comes and you have that inexplicable urge — no, a calling really– to go to Lowe’s because you need a lawn and garden fix, maybe nothing more than to spend a few minutes sitting on that Deere you lust over.

You get out of the truck, stride across the blazing hot asphalt parking lot dressed in your cleanest wife-beater t-shirt and go-to-hell ball cap, through the automatic opening doors and there it is, a display of fully flocked and well adorned Christmas trees — in August.  Frozen in time, mouth fully agape, you sense a pent-up primal scream rattling around somewhere in your head as you take in the sight of this seasonal anomaly. If only that fire-hot emotion could be loosened like the Kraken from Greek mythology — but you know better, so you just sigh and move on.

So it goes my Dropping fanatics and there is little we can do about it. Summer is a spirit, thankfully. Summer is eternal for this fool. Drink it in whilst it lasts.

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