It is so close to summer that I have been tasting lemons, eating every meal on the porch, turning my wine glass in for a water one and there are sandals and tennis shoes and wedges piled by the door where the boots were only days ago it seems.  We are going through our things, putting them into boxes and stacking them against the wall.  We went through our clothes and I found myself throwing all the sweaters and the pull overs and the sweat pants into the give-away pile.  It was hard to pick them back up, tuck them into the winter box because that is a word I shouldn't have to hear or even think for a good long while.

It is close to summer and already I have the jersey tan lines, that first thoughtless burn, those little muscles around my knees that start to come back every May.  The calendar is filling with only the best plans.  The yard is growing.  The street is full of families and frisbees and chalk.  School is nearing an end.  The youth group is having its last BBQ.  High school students are beginning the slow pack, are buying furniture and now they are freshmen and feeling small again.

It is summer, almost.  Women are cutting their hair.  Children are no longer able to sit, still.  Men are rushing from work, loosening their sleeves, knocking about in the garage.  Grocery bags of fruits and corn and steak.  Pitchers of tea.  Open windows.  Neighbors who have not talked in months-- long lost friends.  Walks to the store.  Walks to the burger joint.  Walks to the little league game across the street from the new house.

Summer is up ahead, around the corner.  It is waiting early in the morning when the walk to the car is warm and pleasant and alive, it is stretching the day further into the night.  Is is so close, I can taste the lemons.