I was thinking today about what summertime used to mean to me as a child. The excitement of summer began to build in me by March of every year; the anticipation of no school, endless amounts of free time, and no alarm clocks was enough to carry me through the last day of class - upon which I would make lists in my head of all the fun and zany things I would do over the next couple of months. Summers were all about spending time in the pool, jumping on my trampoline with the sprinklers on full blast, drinking mad quantities of Dr. Pepper, and watching my favorite VHS tapes for the millionth time.

I've come to know summer as a season like any other. I'm excited when it arrives, but am always ready for it to leave. It's a little rougher around the edges than I remember from childhood. The little single-unit air conditioners leave a lot to be desired, and the perpetual stickiness and sweat definitely obliterate any sense of personal attractiveness. Alas, there are simply not enough snow cones (or 'water ice') to relieve the nasty humidity that charges in at the end of July / beginning of August. Even little Sydney looks ridden hard and put up wet by mid August.

But even when I despise summer in a way that only an adult can truly hate something, I know that just around the corner is my reprieve: autumn in the Northeast. Whereas summer was magic to me as a child, autumn is something to behold now. I wait for it in anticipation like a giddy schoolgirl.