When summer begins its ending, I get sad. Even though the season is not what it used to be (and maybe never was), I still imagine there should be a few more long afternoons left for lying in the sun. Or for swimming. Or for thinking about sunning or swimming.
I spent this summer playing tennis with people who say “Yabba Dabba Doo” after they hit a good shot. Let’s not call this quite “senior tennis,” but it is certainly not the high school team, either. I spent it, too, with grandchildren who put on their goggles and life vests to sit in the rubber kiddie pool on hot days.