Waste of July

Summer reaches middle age, and like an AARP Magazine subscriber who knows life is unspooling, I resent every day that I cannot float in salty blue under the blinding white sun. We needed the rain, yes. But we closed out July—on a half-day Friday, no less—with an afternoon of listless rain.

What a waste. It might as well be April.

In June, we could afford to squander. But in July-going-on-August, these glittering afternoons are finite. I am like the man who gets the prognosis, and knows it ain’t great. And feels every day he loses.

We could luck out and linger for the final seven weeks, until the stars and sun say “Close up shop.” More likely, on August nights, the humidity will collapse and the clouds scatter and pool water will stick at 80º, forcing an end to it while the sun glares, useless.