I Loved Summer

I love summer, I hate you.
The perfect moment when I am just cool enough to enjoy the heat, my clothes don’t stick to me and my brow has no sweat, so I’m not reminded of yours dripping onto my face and tainting me.
When it’s the middle of the day & you are too tired or listless to swat the flies away, so they buzz ever closer. You can feel the wind created by their small wings and bodies passing by on your exposed skin. Miniscule moment of intimacy I enjoy infinitely more than a tracing of your finger.
The “sching…sching…sching” of an aluminum fan blade on low, scraping a divot in the metal even deeper than the summer before and the one before that. One day the fan blade will be silent, it will makes its pass without touching but the metal won’t heal.
The crescendo of insect noise in the early day and again at sunset, drowning out everything else, forcing listeners into Mother Nature’s hour of meditation, the gentlest of violation clearing away the days anxiety and ushering in night time peace until I’m reminded of violent sunsets.
I love summer but I hate you.