My Perfect Summer

Hot Mess

Summer’s lease hath all too short a date. – William Shakespeare

Three words: Jackets. Are. Back.

Alas, summer sun can’t last forever. The days will grow cooler and shorter. August is slipping away like a bottle of wine. 

But, as a poet says, when summer gathers up her robes of glory and like a dream of beauty, glides away, I relish memories of all those who have made my summer perfect.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath all too short a date;

Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,

And often is his gold complexion dimmed.

Left: Kitty Undercover. Not stalking you. Just watching you. Always.

Right: Life is ruff when you’re this cute.

And every fair from fair sometime declines,

By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm'd;

But thy eternal summer shall not fade,

Nor lose possession of that fair thou ow’st;

Nor shall death brag thou wander’st in his shade,

When in eternal lines to time thou grow’st:

  

So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,

So long lives this,

and this gives life to thee.   

Nothing but these compare to the beauty and perfection

of my perfect summer day.