John B. Marek is a storyteller with dirt under his nails who weaves tales inspired by a lifetime immersed in nature. His insightful essays and award-winning fiction delve into the complexities of sustainable living, the heart of rural communities and the thrill of outdoor adventure. You can find more of his writing at johnbmarek.com.
I know what you’re thinking … summer hasn’t even officially started yet. The calendar still shows a couple more days until the solstice arrives, bringing those long, lazy days we’ve been anticipating since the last leaf fell. But here’s the truth that hits me every year around this time: Summer has a way of slipping through our fingers like, well, sand at the beach.
It feels like just yesterday we were making grand plans for these precious months ahead. Weekend camping trips, backyard barbecues, afternoon swims and those perfect evenings when the sun hangs low and the air is thick with wonder. We talked about slowing down, taking time to breathe and maybe finally reading that stack of books gathering dust on the nightstand.
But time has this cruel habit of accelerating when we need it most to slow down. Before we can blink twice, we’ll be seeing those familiar signs: back-to-school sales creeping into store displays, the first whispers of football season in the air and that subtle shift in light that signals summer’s inevitable retreat.
The kids will return to classrooms with new backpacks and fresh notebooks. Friday night lights will illuminate fields where families gather to cheer. Pumpkin spice will make its triumphant return to coffee shops everywhere. And we’ll wonder, as we do every year, where the summer went.
That is why today matters. This moment, right here, before the official start of summer – this is when we need to make our peace with time’s relentless march and decide to be present for every precious day ahead.
Let’s make a pact to notice things this summer: the way morning dew catches the light on the grass, the sound of ice clinking in a tall glass of lemonade, the feeling of warm sand between our toes, the laughter of children playing in sprinklers and the way the air smells different on a July evening.
Let’s put down our phones more often and look up at the sky. Let’s have conversations that meander like lazy rivers. Let’s eat watermelon until our chins are sticky and stay up late watching fireflies dance in the darkness.
Because here’s what I’ve learned: Summer isn’t just a season, it’s a state of mind. It’s permission to slow down, to savor, to remember what it feels like to be fully alive in the present moment. And that permission doesn’t require a specific date on the calendar.
So yes, summer’s over before it begins, in the sense that it will always be too short, too fleeting, too precious to fully capture and hold. But it’s also just beginning, full of promise and possibility, waiting for us to step into it with intention and gratitude.
The days are getting longer. The possibilities are endless. And we have this moment, right now, to choose how we want to spend the gift of another summer.
Let’s not waste it wishing for more time. Let’s use the time we have.