I want to do summer with you.
I want a hot, raucous, rowdy summer full of staying up too late and spending just a little too much on beer and getting dusty riding with the top down.
I want to do summer with you, but let’s start in spring: Frolicking in grassy meadows, roaming among the wildflower fields, toting our picnic up the mountain to take in the green hills. My fingers falteringly pick out the ukulele chords as you patiently take drags from your e-cig. Resting in the shade, we finally let the sun and breeze whisk all the heaviness of winter out from between our shoulder blades.
I want to stop and notice the little moss growing out of the cracks of tree bark and crouch down suddenly when we see the doe and her two fawns passing by so they don’t get spooked. Our boots get muddy and we leave them by the door. You let me wear your sweatshirt as we snuggle up by the TV after dinner.
I want to eat deviled eggs and ham sandwiches for Easter, to deck the halls with cherry blossoms and daffodils, and surprise you with my pretty Easter dress. I’ll admire you in your collared shirt as we wear our fancy clothes to Passover Seder to meet the family. When your uncle Marty tells the same story for the 73rd time you’ll give me that knowing look across the table that we’ll get outta there soon. We step out to the back porch to get some air and admire the stars despite light pollution. You drape your arm around my shoulders and we talk about the city lights in the distance, powered by the sun captured in ancient times and now being released back to the sky by burning fossil fuels.
I want to do summer with you. I want to blow bubbles out your balcony window onto passers-by on the street. We can watch the parade go by below from the comfort of your couch, then later walk towards the park to join in festival revelries. I want to be in the middle of the crowd that’s dancing to your band. We come to a rolling boil to your driving bass beats, moving, shaking, grooving to your jam.
Later, alone, you and I make our own kind of music as you introduce your rhythm into my hips and we hold each other till morning.
I want to go camping at the lake. I’ll impress you by setting up the tent before you’re back with the firewood. I want to see the look of pride on your face when you land a large trout from the lake and we eat it for supper. I teach you my folk songs by the campfire while you blaze up and get talkative, telling stories into the night.
I want your sweet loving as we go to bed; again when we wake up in the morning. I want us to need to rinse off in the shower at 2 a.m. so we can be cool enough to sleep. And I want the luxury of nestling into an afternoon nap, closing the blinds for sweet darkness against the hot sun’s rays. Waking up covered in sweat I’ll get drunk off your musk as, slightly embarrassed but slightly pleased, you think I’m silly for wanting to sniff a stinky guy.
I want to play with you in a backyard swimming pool with our friends, being held up on your shoulders as we toss the beach ball around. I’ll fix a salad while you tend the grill and we laugh and talk with everyone as the twilight hits. I want to carry you like a baby with the water helping me lift you and float you on your back to admire the moonlight.
I want to walk with you in autumn breezes, crunchy leaves underfoot as the days start to get colder. When sweater weather hits I can’t wait to cook you soups and casseroles. The cozy mood starts to hit and we feel slightly guilty but oh so good about our Netflix binge with hot cocoa.
While some loves are built to last a lifetime, others only are meant to last a season. I want to do summer with you, but remembering how we kept each other warm last winter will have to do.
Author: Kandis Gilmore
Editor: Sarah Kolkka; Caitlin Oriel