Shall I Compare Thee to a Summer's Day?

Shall I? Hmm. I don't think that Shakespeare visited Texas in July. If I was comparing someone to a summer's day, it probably wouldn't be a compliment. Summer is my least favorite season. Nothing has really been inspiring me that much lately, and I know that a factor is the weather. A cold, grey day in winter will make me happy, whereas a hot, sunny day in summer is liable to do the opposite. 

Texas summers are not sweet and gentle summers, no, they are scorching, dull, relentless summers. The heat reflects off of the massive amounts of concrete in the cities and it seems as if everything, the light, the sky, and the sun above, is a dull beige. I welcome the back-to-school ads in August and the Indian corn and pumpkins arriving in the supermarkets after Labor Day. It gives me a thrill to think that fall is coming…it still is, isn’t it?

Here’s the opposite of an ode to summer. 

“Summer Afternoon”
by Joy Curry

A wasp flies by

Through the solemn shadows
Stretching over close-set, lonely houses,
Their faces stoic against the lingering sun.

The sidewalk burns memories into the bare feet
Of children walking past needle-like grass. 

Cicadas raise their voices.

The shadows stretch longer, plodding their way
Down the suburban street
Stopping only to glower in my direction.