I over-dramatize the summers we experience in Texas. During the winter, I have memories of heat that cakes the skin with sweat, both yours and the person’s next to you. It is the natural state of Texas: frothy flakes that form in the twenty feet between the car and the house and fall off as soon as your skin cools.
But this summer has been pleasant and warm. The grass has yet to dry to stalks of cheap hay; the cement is not ready for your eggs yet; the metal of the car buckles won’t scald you.
The sun has been playing with the clouds. Today while on the highway, the shadows formed by the clouds had defined edges, that, once crossed, would admit one into an entirely different world, a gentle shift from shadow to blaze or vise versa. I had wanted to run out and cloud hop, to frolic as I had when I was a child. But the highway isn’t a forgiving playground.
This summer? Yeah, it’s okay, I guess. I’m stressed. About what, you ask? Well, everything. They tell you that school ends, but it doesn’t. Responsibility doesn’t end when the homework does.
And life goes on.