Today would be a beautiful day if it weren’t the end of summer.
Labor Day is here, which most of New England uses to mark the end of the warm, leisurely season. It’s a quiet, sunny day.
Taking advantage of the empty roads this morning I set off on my bike, trying new paths, braving tricky intersections, crossing bridges I usually avoid. As the path leads me into a familiar park I see it is just as full as it has been all summer, people walking with short sleeves, sunglasses, and big smiles.
My silly heart resists simplicity, and always concerns itself with what is next: the falling leaf, the fading light. It ignores the admonition of Matthew 6:34 – do not worry about tomorrow, tomorrow will take care of itself.
So my heart churns forward but my body tells a different tale. Just as I spot my happy neighbors enjoying the mid-morning sun, I become aware of the sun on my own back. Maybe after years of changing seasons I should be able to distinguish the season by the warmth and angle of its rays, but the sun today tells me none of those things.
All my skin knows is that it is warm and alive; it doesn’t care if it is May or September.
Today is a beautiful day; it is the end of summer.
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