Tangerine Season

as a child, the end of summer was dictated by cooler evenings, early to bed early to rise, a breeze through my bedroom window that signified an ending. but also a beginning. wide-ruled paper, yellow #2, a pencil case that smelled like fall. like delicious. a thermos and a triangular shaped sandwich filled with peanut butter goodness.

the lazy days of swimming and playing were over; hours wasted on the lake drinking Sunkist™ from the vending machine; 75 cents spent, a million giggles gained. seaweed. screaming. dunking. ducking. treading water. blowing bubbles. the gentle rocking. and pulling. and pushing. and tugging on the anchor rope to get to the bottom. diving to where the water is cool and the sunlight stops shinning. a subtle shift in wind. ending up where the weeds were as tall as me. My tiny legs covered in bruises from bouncing. from falling. from the fins of the lake shark. but drenched in sunlight nonetheless. the end of summer always felt somewhat sad but also sweet, like the last section of a tangerine.

the rind is sour and rusting on my chair. the leaves will change, dry and fall like eggshells on the avenues. but if i play this song one more time summer will not end? the sun will not set before i leave this office. i will not need a wool coat. or mittens. i hit snooze. maybe i can sleep through winter and wake up when the buds are bursting with color. when the birds are hungry. when i am hungry.

if i just play this song one more time, i can make it. i can do it. i can get there. i can get to tangerine season once again. if i hurry...before the rind goes dry.