The Bittersweet Song of Summer

In Indiana, summer feels brief - its golden days arrive all at once, then begin slipping away almost as quickly. Maybe that’s why I find myself savoring every hour, stretching afternoons at the pool with my girls as far as the sun will allow. These are the days I wish I could bottle: sticky hands, carefree laughter, and the hum of a season already whispering its goodbye.

The ethereal scents of sunscreen, coconut, chlorine, and fabric softener billowing in the wind like clothes hanging on a line to dry, mingling with the sound of lively laughter, playful chatter, water splashing and crashing gleefully against the edges of a pool that’s alive. The feel of scorching hot concrete on the soles of feet. This is summer - alive, fleeting, unforgettable.

Sticky ice cream drips down little hands, leaving trails of sweetness no napkin can quit erase. In the moment, it feels ordinary, almost forgettable - but these are the very memories that linger, becoming extraordinary when we pause to notice them. I savor them knowing that as children grow, summer shifts - still generous, but never quite the same. Its days stretch long and endless, yet they vanish when looked back upon.

It was the first cicada song that told me this season was turning. Their call rose in the heat, steady, and ancient, a reminder that even joy carries its own ending. In Georgia, summers once stretched endlessly, but in Indiana, the days feel shorter - too precious to take for granted. That is the bittersweet gift of summer: to be fully here now, knowing it will one day fade, yet live forever in the sound of laughter, the taste of sweetness, and the song of a cicada at dusk.