It's been strange here these past few days. The weather is unseasonably cool for August which makes me feel a little unprepared for the coming months.
Summer is a time of harvesting and putting away things for the winter, to preserve a little bit of memory in each jar, so that when you open it, you remember the day you picked the contents, prepared and canned it.
Summer is a time for stocking up on firewood, to cut and chop each log and know that you will be warm and toasty when there is a cold blanket of snow on the ground.
Summer is a time to run around barefoot and feel the warm earth between your toes, to feel the grass tickling your skin as you roll round and round down the hill.
But suddenly, without warning, it's cooler when it is supposed to still be hot. So now, I fret that I haven't done enough this summer. We haven't stocked enough wood, we are still harvesting our garden and I am still canning our memories. The grass is going to sleep and turning brown and the trees are quickly shedding their leaves, and all day today, a cool breeze blew through the windows which caused me to think about thicker blankets on the beds.
Too soon, it feels like fall. Too soon.
And I feel strange, empty almost. I putter around the house feeling like I should be doing something, but nothing comes to mind.
Too soon, summer is coming to an end, and I feel wholly unprepared.