Last Day of School

I remember when I was younger that the last day of school seemed to have this kind of magical quality. In grade school we attended class, but nothing concrete was really taught. Some teachers would let us chatter and goof around until the bell, and others would make us write in journals, or do What I Learned this Year essays. Mostly, I sat near the window and dreamed. And waited. The summer stretched out before me like a seemingly endless time to play, swim, sleep, watch TV, skin my knees climbing trees, curl my toes into sand or lie on grass just staring at the sky and seeing shapes in the clouds. All the possibilities for nothing and everything swirling in my head and waiting for the sluggish minute hand to cycle the clock.

The older I became the less I dreamed of the possibilities of summer. It semed just another few months of the year that were hotter than the rest, and there was more time to work at the job, more daylight to get chores and errands accomplished. I forgot to curl my toes in the sand. I didn't schedule time to lay on the grass. And before I knew it, summer was gone, the weather cooler and I never got the chance to play.

I want to play again before I see my last summer.