Summer is starting to give me that look. The look that says, “It’s not you, it’s me. I think we should see other people.” I’ve been trying to convince Summer to stick around.
“Look,” I say. “We’ve just gotten started. There’s still so much to do! Haven’t we had fun together? Why would you want to leave?”
It does no good. Summer is going to break my heart. I sigh, resigned. I will make the most out of what I have left.
I’m not the first to recognize that look. I leave you with a poem by Emily Dickinson.
“Summer Begins to Have the Look”
by Emily Dickinson
Summer begins to have the look,
Peruser of enchanting Book
Reluctantly, but sure, perceives--
A gain upon the backward leaves.
Autumn begins to be inferred
By millinery of the cloud,
Or deeper color in the shawl
That wraps the everlasting hill.
The eye begins its avarice,
A meditation chastens speech,
Some Dyer of a distant tree
Resumes his gaudy industry.
Conclusion is the course of all,
Almost to be perennial,
And then elude stability
Recalls to immortality.
Donna Kemper put aside her art career to care for a mother she hadn't seen in over a decade. For seven years she followed her mother's journey into dementia, caring for her and putting forgiveness into action.