"the summer is young"

The title of this post is from the end of a friend's most recent post on her own blog, Margin Notes (link to the right). Her writing's always evocative, but for whatever reason that phrase really stuck: the summer is young.

The summer, after all, is young- at least for the next three months, until it isn't anymore. And I still don't have any concrete plan as of this very moment, as I sit here writing this and "the summer is young" is what I keep telling myself. But I'm going to wake up and it will be August 31st and I'll be saying, "where did the summer go?" The odd old couple that lives in the violently purple house beside my family's own muted, yellow one was also most likely, at some point, in the habit of telling themselves that the summer, their relationship, their eldest daughter (now in her 40s) was "young." And then, suddenly, none of it is. It's just a striking notion, that time moves in such a way that seems so ample from a distance. I have all of my life ahead of me and these are the days of my youth, sure, but they're numbered. And I think I like it that way. Or I will at least until I'm not young anymore either...

I say all of this to say that I need to get the hell off my ass and do something with my summer. But also to remember that sure, the summer is young on the second of June but'll be no spring chicken come just a couple of months from now.