This Is The End Beautiful Friend

I feel like I missed summer this year.

Summer, the heat, the humidity, the feeling of sweat trickling down my back…I love it. I’d most often rather be hot than cold, which is weird since I live in Minnesota. I attribute this to being born in California.

Winter, after a few weeks, begins to drag me down. I eat more and gain weight. My mood plummets. By January I’m considering driving South even for just a few hours of sunshine.

Summer usually brings heat, and with that heat electricity builds in the air. I think it is that electric air that I love the most. The energy in that charged air that both hangs on your body and jumps from pore to pore is what makes summer so delicious.

Rochester did not hit 90 degrees even once this summer. I feel a bit cheated.

I want those evenings sitting outside as the dusk slowly drifts into darkness. I want to hear the frogs calling to one another so loudly that I can joke that I need to turn the sound up on the television. I want to hear the crickets so constantly chirping that their songs blend into one long white noise.

I want to hear the thunder rolling in, signaling the rain to cool the pavement in the downpour.

I love listening to thunderstorms, the rain pounding on the shingles in a deafening roar. Rumbles approaching from the West, rising to a crescendo of booms and heart stopping cracks before fading again to a distant rumble.

I love that those thunderstorms send my kids scurrying into my arms, their limbs trembling from excitement and fear. I hold them as we wait for the storm to lumber through and even as it does I’m wishing for more.