July is…(a poem)

July is

hot

and smoky

hot

and smoky

gone so quick

yet it drags on

I'm not gonna lie

I don't much like July

stuck right in the middle of the year

I find I yearn for the bookends

anything but hot and smoky

the in-betweens when its cool and crisp

and I'm not wishing for it to be over

and then berating myself for not enjoying summer to the fullest

since it is so fleeting, so short

winter will be here before I know it

and I wished July away like an ungrateful Alaskan

How could I?

I will find the things that I enjoy about July—

river trips, brewery sips, car rides with windows down, getting to wear shorts sandals and shades, being with friends outside (this is a big deal), so many obligations and opportunities and my schedule is open at least until it fills which it certainly will, endless days, midnight sun lingering after solstice, camping, fishing, hiking, cold beer on a hot day, praying for rain to help the smoke and then it falls and the air is fresh again.

I do like July.

But how do I say this?

The manic nature of Alaska summer reaches it's peak in July. There is so much to fit in and you are oh so aware that you will not have enough time to do it all, due to the speed at which May and June passed. You will never keep up, and now you're just ready for fall, hoping things will calm down a bit, so you can really soak in the season. But if that's how it worked, we wouldn't be granted these endless days, rolling into each other. The work, the play, the chores, the before-winter-to-do-list, the camping trips, the fishing to fill the freezer--there's too much to do. Just hold on tight, you'll make it to winter and then you can breathe. Promise.

from a river trip