Summer’s Fleeting Symphony

    Flowers bursting forth with fragrance. Newly mown grass. The smell of hay after the rain. It was the first day of August and the aromas still wafted on the wings of the wind, but they were not as noticeable as they had been at the first of spring.

    Spring had brought with it change. A 12-year-old boy notices the smells that spring brings. Freshly cut grass. The smell of cowhide in baseball gloves and the smell of a new baseball before its first pitch is ever thrown.

    Twelve-year-old boys being twelve, they also notice how pretty that 12-year-old girl smells, whether it's from her perfume, soap or maybe just a stick of Juicy Fruit she might be chewing.

    With its smells, spring also brought change. Soon, school would be getting out for summer and I and the other 12-year-old boys would enjoy our vacation.

    When the first day of August rolled around, I began to dread going back to school but it's was always with a hint of excitement for lay ahead. A new school year brought with it new smells, including the smell of new jeans, newly sharpened pencils, new paper and the smells of the freshly mimeographed syllabi that teachers would hand out.

    Today is the first of August. It's exactly one month from my birthday on September 1. It is exactly eight days from my sister Abbie's 40^th birthday. It's exactly six months after my brother Danny's 41^st birthday. There are still smells, there is still change and the world keeps turning as it did when I was 12 years old.

    Mimeographs are a thing of the past. New jeans don't seem to have the same smell as they did when I was 12. What's happened to the fresh smell of a new notebook?

    The flowers and the grass still smell the same and I give God thanks for that.

    Soon, summer will be ending and autumn leaves will fall to the ground, begging me to rake them up. Then, the warm Florida autumn will turn to a fairly cold north Florida winter before spring bursts forth in song again, beckoning me to take her by the hand and dance.

    Now, I listen as summer plays the notes on her symphony. The symphony will end soon, but it still seems so far away.