I Can Hear it...Can You?

    Grab your snorkel, swim fins and barbecue fork. Get in all of the outdoor time that you can. The school bells are a-clangin’ and August is winding down like a hot, tired old bag lady seeking a bench and some shade.      
     I am ever-so curious to learn how summer sped by so fast. It seems to me that there must be some mystical time warp that is causing the space-time continuum to mess with our heads.
     I cannot seem to convince my flower blooms that they are rushing through the process. “Take your time my little dears…” I whisper, but they do not listen, as the faded petals gently drift to the ground.
     And, how did I already wear through a pair of flip-flops?  The left one is cranky, and the top part will randomly wrench itself free from the bottom hole, causing me to stumble around like your uncle Fred who’s been lurking about the beverage table way too long during the family reunion, and all the while, an*evol, flappy chuckle echoes in the background.
   There also appears to be some depressed leaves bent on falling green and EARLY!  This happens every few years. They seem to decide it is just not worth the effort of waiting until autumn or turning a beautiful golden red. They let go before their time as though suicidal and out on the ledge. Surely there must be someone with the job title of ‘foliage negotiator’ out there somewhere.
     I am well aware that one cannot hold on to a season. The tighter you clutch it to yourself the faster it unravels. A fistful of sand would stay longer. And really it is not that I mind the coming fall. It is quite lovely, so do not feel that you have to convince me. It is only that I know that once fall commences, then winter is only just around the corner.
   Winter and I are not friends. I wish it were so, but I cannot help it. You see,    I absolutely know that there will be a snowy, dark and dreary day in the future that I will mourn my broken, flapping flip-flop and even the humiliation of staggering around in the hot sun, shod only with one shoe and a tangled mess writhing its way up my left ankle, for all the world to see.
    I think that is why I refuse to toss these shoes, and why I just keep shoving the round plug back through the worn and weary hole in the flip-flop bottom. It’s my flip-flop, and I reserve the right to lunge about, flailing my arms all I want to!!! Of course I am a sucker for a summer close-out sale and there is bound to be a new pair with my name on them out there somewhere. If I listen very close, I can already hear the chuckle…. Tonya Willman ©2011