It’s all over.
A glorious summer lies lifeless in my hands like a wrung-out pelican.
All my summer’s hopes, joys, and anticipations have added up to nothing more than a handful of fallow seeds, blown astray by the winds of mystery into the chafed mouth of Father Time, presumably to be digested in his Stomach of Ages. By September, my enchanted summer will be just one more mound of dried excrement on Father Time’s front porch.
Where did the time pass? It seems like only yesterday it was the middle of June and I was as merry as a child straddling his first scarecrow. Now, teacher workshops begin on Monday and I am a wizened miser gasping for air. Who is left to seal their lips over mine in a vain attempt to resuscitate me? Who will pound on my chest in melodramatic fashion? Who will mournfully zip the coroner’s bag closed over the dead face of my summer?
I think I got lost in a metaphor there somewhere…
At any rate, my summer break is done. On Monday I will dutifully return to my full-time job and spend a week sitting in meetings, hanging meaningless posters, and berating custodial staff. There will be warm hugs of welcome from my co-workers and nods of respectful recognition from imaginary bears. All will appear to be well, but this will not be the case. In my heart, I will secretly be yearning for those long days of July when I sat on my ass all day reading news on the internet and complaining to my wife.
So long, summer. Have fun in hell. Say hi to Seasons 6-11 of Happy Days for me.