You can feel it in the air — the Don Henley days are near.
As August dwindles, my mental cassette-tape deck — no digital downloads for this wrinkled gray matter — loops the song “The Boys of Summer.”
Henley’s pop music ode to lost youth, love and summer bums me out. It’s not the dated ‘80s synthesizer sound, but the lyrics:
“Nobody on the road
Nobody on the beach
I feel it in the air
The summers out reach”
Given the road and beach traffic coming this Labor Day weekend, there are still plenty of somebodies in northern Michigan.
And, yes, the humidity says summer air — if not central air conditioning.
It’s still the season of short sleeves and melting Superman ice cream.
However, like an aging rock star, summer’s best days are behind. The festivals and family vacations are over; reduced to souvenir T-shirts, ticket stubs and never-to-be-printed photos.
At this point, forget back-to-school shopping, it’s time to stock up on tacky Christmas lawn ornaments.
While it’s not entirely “empty lake, empty street, the sun goes down alone,” summer regret is near.
Before long the ‘ings — swimming, fishing, tanning, corn-on-the-cobbing — will turn into past-tense summer. You can wear flip-flops in September, but it feels out of step with yellow school buses and maple leaves turning red.
Late August is often CliffNotes summer. I put off three months of sun, surf and sand, and now I’m cramming before fall. I try to get a tan, take in a baseball game, tube down the river and build a bonfire — all before breakfast.
Author Wallace Stegner referred to summer as “days dripping away like honey off a spoon.”
However, late August is chug-a-lug insta-summer; no honey, just a hint of bittersweet regret.