Skip to content
April 24, 2013 / Tina

“The Last Dog Days of Summer”

Written by Geralyn Rownan

The last days of summer dripped slow and golden like honey from a spoon. Those days were just as sweet, made more so perhaps, as I saw passion slowly fade from his eyes as summer fades like smoke into the fall. Those long summer days when light and love seemed endless were drawing to a close.

The arc of summer had crossed the sky and now was dropping slowly into gold and crimson sunsets. Lush green curled up into brown slumber. The god of harvest drew yellow drapes across a summer of crystal chandeliers, cool sheets and gauzy curtains stirred by the breath of a wind that carried the faint scent of orange blossom.

He would leave. Gently. Politely. But leave he would. For him it was a summer fling. But it would fling me towards the darkness and doubt of winter, as the approaching hands of autumn would fling the leaves from the trees and then scatter the first sprinkle of snow upon the stripped earth. I had known from the beginning. Known but not acknowledged.

He would not stay forever. This was understood. But his way of understanding was not mine. Always did his gaze focus outward, his attention caught by the clamour of his business world; always did mine focus within, upon the world that lay between the two of us. It is ever thus with men and women.

When summer had arrived in a new dress and the sky was always blue and the earth always soft, it had been so easy. So easy to lie on a bed of sweet park grass and know nothing except the sensuality of his brown eyes looking down into mine. Cocooned. Warm ground beneath me, his body warm beside me and his arm flung casually across me.

But… almost imperceptively, as bit by bit the months stole minutes from the sun’s span, so did the intensity of feeling leach bit by bit from his embrace. I knew this. But I would not acknowledge it. I knew, for him, memories of me would fade to sepia like the gently fading pictures in a child’s book of fairy tales and he would turn his gaze back to the world and the new. But it would not be so for me.

Unless… perhaps… the coming winter wheeled in its wake bright ribbons of spring that would draw him back to me again in the chariot of the sun god…


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: