As the summer wanes, the camps nearby are empty from the giggles, music, and loud, late-night UNO games. Chainsaws are silent until cooler weather, but the bass along the shore chime in with a splash now and then.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Chirping crickets overpower the buzz of mosquitoes, and the crows become more brazen in their hollering from nests in the pines along the shore. At this time of year, I become part of the landscape, just listening and making very little noise of my own. I am guilty <\/a>of utilizing my Bluetooth speaker, but I keep the volume down unless “Sister Golden Hair” from America surprises me. I always turn it up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

The raspberries are gone now; we had our fill, so walks in the woods don’t come with complimentary traveling snacks. The blueberries all around me look great, but most are not mine, and I don’t take berries that belong to someone else; the bears do enough of that. I’ll grab a pint today from one of the easily accessible roadside, serve-yourself kiosks made from old lumber and leftover metal roofing. The honor system still works here.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Four bucks for the berries and a buck for a pint of half-and-half make late-night snacking seem like a healthful proposition.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Since my youth, I’ve always found myself a little bummed out when school starts. I know it isn’t starting for me, but I carry the mood for all those kids who must go back. It was always my saddest time, leaving summer behind for a tiny desk, an uncomfortable chair, and grocery bag book covers. My sisters usually helped me cover my books; I wonder if kids do that anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I get some grief from readers who try to give me a pep talk when I write about feelings of late summer: “TC, there’s all kinds of summer left.” Then, they recite the number of days between here and autumn. I can look at a calendar, too, but I judge time internally with assistance from sounds and not numbers on paper.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

I don’t relish pep talks. There are times when it’s better to embrace sadness; melancholy moods are part of our journey. Being happy all the time would be so boring; kids need to know that. Don’t lead them to believe that joy is the only emotion to be embraced.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

For me, seasons are internal, based on feelings and overnight temperatures. I consider the breeze’s direction and whether or not it makes my nose feel cold. Seasons have a particular sound and feeling underfoot. I can’t put a date on it. Seasons are within me.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It’s late summer in Maine, so don’t try to tell me anything different.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

On our walk last night, Ellie agreed to pose for her late-summer portrait near the bones of a decaying homebuilt rowboat in the backyard of one of my camp neighbor’s places. I cut through the old tote road behind it, but I have permission. I do not cut through the yard when he’s here because privacy means something. He tells me to, but I can’t.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

It’s late summer in Maine, and I’m the only one who embraces the opportunity to admit it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n

From the Jagged Edge of America, we remain,<\/p>\n\n\n\n

TC<\/p>\n\n\n\n

&<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Ellie<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Thank you for all your support for keeping the blog and me up and running. The kindness of my readers using BuyMeACoffee app is a boost to a man believing that writing for a living is possible without national tours and huge advances. Thanks to those who joined and to those who will join. I appreciate you so much<\/p>\n\n\n\n

Tim Cotton<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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