So the unofficial last day of summer has passed. Today was the first of school for Chicago kids. Trees in the neighborhood are starting to shed. Although summer as an adult doesn’t mean the same thing as it did when it came with a three-month break from mandatory tasks, the slow transition into fall will leave me pining for a few things.
I love the cold burst of refrigerated air from a crappy window unit at 4 AM. I find the symphony of crickets at night to be one of the most soothing sounds on earth. I think a cold beer on a hot afternoon might be the reason Saturdays were invented. But most of all, I’ll miss fresh basil. Catherine, our neighbor to the east, put a hanging basket on the fence back in May or June and told us it was ours. Still in her yard, under her close supervision, it flourished. As the kitchen idiot, my only job all summer was to retrieve leaves from the plant whenever Cristi requested.
They say it’s the little things in life that matter the most and I guess they’re right—whoever “they” are. All I can say for sure is that I’m going to miss my basil runs. Partially because I like basil, but mostly because I’m fairly certain that the basil plant, along with the entire city of Chicago, will be covered in a sheet of ice in a few months.