Summertime

To live near a high school, probably any school for that matter, on the last day of classes is to see a world transformed.  The sullen teenagers who only days before were slouching disheveled and out of sorts down the road to the schoolhouse are now re-born; titans of all they survey, heads high and spirits light they have the energy of a thousand suns.  With today’s schedules, though, it will be more like 70 or so, after which they will hear the dreaded call to breakfast and for another school year.

But that’s for later. For now, summertime is a tonic, a cure all, a relic revived at this time every year when we all realize that once we were those laconic kids who so sought this one day, this beginning of everything good, that it practically hurt to move those last few days of May. Tomorrow held no demands save our own wishing. Remember?

Summertime.  And, if you leave enough room, the living is indeed easy.

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