MyStoryYourStory: Pale legs, arms, midriffs, too

“Long stormy spring-time, wet contentious April, winter chilling the lap of … May; but at length the season of summer does come.” – Thomas Carlyle, writer, philosopher

This time of year, we indulge. We abandon stale and stuffy and tease with fresh and frilly. We replace grays, browns and blacks in our wardrobes with yellows, purples, pinks and baby blues. Pushing to the back of our closets dull scratchy wools and heavy polyesters, we pull out lively polka dotted shirts and flowered skirts; striped pants and pedal pushers.

This season beckons us to sport sneakers, sandals and straw hats. We imagine ourselves in bangles and bows. Donning Bermuda shorts and sleeveless tops, we show off pale legs, arms, sometimes midriffs, too.

Our play extends with the daylight into shortened evenings lit by slow sunsets. The twinkles in our eyes return, as we gaze romantically at moored boats and beach toys, knowing soon we will float as on air into softly lit horizons.

While springtime fades into summer, life moves outdoors. Voices carry through open screens. Rounding the corner, laughter dances on sidewalks, chatter floats on bikes and trikes and travels on down the lane.

Sweet aromas of suppers frying and desserts baking telegraph messages of home, spelling loving memories, pronouncing with explicit diction “dinner’s ready.”

All those cold dark preceding months failed to misinform us. We knew better. Snobbishly, we counted on the coming of this season of miracles, which causes winter’s long memory to be lost for a time.

The tenor of the sky changes from howling to rumbling. We do not think it strange to watch hard crusty hail tumble from the heavens, like a rebel, who first politely knocks and then bangs on our roofs, heralding summer’s bravado entry.

Earth bursts with life as we sweetly encourage every blade of green as a blessed event.

We are in a season of miracles and exuberant firsts. Chipper, we conduct the inaugural mowing as though leading an orchestra, cultivating oohs and ahs over the lush emerald carpet that will tickle feet and lift spirits.

Our once dismal outlook peaks with excitement, as we dust off sills, gladly wipe down railings and shake rugs.

Backyards, front yards and side yards transform into well-manicured playgrounds for the young and young at heart.

No more do we feel our age but go forth with a lilt, reborn, newly baptized by this rhapsodic awakening.

Our song is renewed and grip strengthened, as we pluck and pull and plant, praising such work with the thrill of a first assignment.

Expectantly, we watch robins fly about in chaotic mating pirouettes. Later, we observe them heaving while sucking earthworms from the ground, as a magician pulls a rabbit from a top hat.

Stalwart whistles of male cardinals ring like church bells, reminding us that summertime is not an insincere friend here today, gone tomorrow, but a loyal companion who will remain in our midst for a measure of time, at least.

Soft cooing of mourning doves soothes our rising. We are privy to the sight of a strolling pair of Canada Geese trailed by – count them –one, two, three, four perhaps more goslings bobbing faithfully behind, their soft down camouflaged in virgin grass.

Summer, an extravagant embrace in which we are consoled and empowered.

Come, beloved Summer. You who gladly intervenes, converting our once cold, now-swelling hearts.

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