As a boy,  I divided the year into chunks by subdividing the seasons into smaller times.  Each period had its pastimes and rituals.  The time between my birthday July 7 and August 1 was considered “High Summer”.  **

High Summer didn’t have much to it. There was little planning or set things to do. That was the point of High Summer. It was a structureless time of endless hot days without variation. I did what I wanted and make it up as I go along. There were trips to the pool and boat rides with small chocolate cones at the D-Q and the like, but these were all impromptu, never planned.  Looking back I have select memory, for I remember the tranquility  when there was a lot of boredom.  I’d give anything to experience that again.

As an adult living in Phoenix, “High Summer” is mostly to be endured rather than pleasantly passed. Each tedious hot day is much like the last. Rather than basking in The Present Eternal Summer I count the days to September when it finally dissipates. Meanwhile I scurry from AC to AC.  Spending High Summer in Phoenix is assisted by as many getaways as possible.  We go to Santa Fe in a few weeks; the annual trek to Canada is in mid-August.

Meanwhile, there is High Summer, paradoxically hardly advancing yet flying by as Time does. Despite the heat, I won’t shove it along.  I am no longer interested in pushing through to the next time period (autumn, you can take your time!).

Welcome High Summer.  Stay awhile.

 

**August 1, which is both my grandfather’s birthday and Lammas Day, is marked as  “Mature Summer”, with blueberries,  the arrival of homegrown tomatoes and trips to Stratford, with a hint of autumn on its way.

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