The end of July, a Monday

My nails are white. A good idea for a fresh summer manicure, I’d thought to myself yesterday afternoon, then took the better part of an hour to swipe the thick paint across the round of my nails and correct it with a brush until it looked just so. Today I’m pleased with the result but am already thinking about the bold orange-red I’ll go for next.

I’m eating cold cherries at my desk, one by one, and slowly. Only a few of them are sweet and what I would classify as “good” — a disappointment in one of my favorite summer fruits, to say the least. Maybe the trees got too much rain this year. Maybe we’ve all gotten too much rain this year. As I pull cherry pits out of my mouth, they layer a crimson stain on my fingertips.

My mind is stuck on the fact that it’s almost August. Normally, I find ways to savor the early months of summer, an effort to be present in my favorite season and bottle the feeling of sunlight on my skin for the wet cold of December and beyond.

The ease and seemingly limitless time of summer come to life in things like abundant sprigs of basil, Creole tomatoes, white nectarines so ripe they could burst in your hand. And cherries, too. Taking walks with Pearl and noticing how the sun seems to hold in place just above the horizon well beyond dinnertime.

All that seems to have passed, even though I realize we’re only technically a month or so into Actual Summer and that there will be plenty more balmy mornings and flame-like sunsets through October or so.

I’m making a note to treat August as I would have June and July this year. With the wedding seemingly just around the corner, it’s been easy for me to get more wrapped up in the future than I typically would.

Slow. Down.

I drop the last cherry pit into the bowl in front of me.

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