First and foremost, I fell in love with my husband fourteen years ago this summer. I will never forget sitting in the car in my driveway during the summer downpour, the well-known chorus of Sweet Home Alabama playing quietly in the background as those three perfect words danced on the tip of my tongue, eager to be said.
I took a deep breath and turned to Kirk to set them free, but he beat me to it. “I love you,” he said, his deep brown eyes full of apprehension and sweetness.
I broke into a huge grin and said, “I love you!” He kissed me then, before we abandoned the car and danced together in the hot summer rain, uncaring of what the neighbors would think. We were young, and in love, and the air smelled of rain, and hope, and possibilities.
Perhaps that is why I love summer so much. It surely is not for the heat, for I will spend every moment I can moving from shade to shade, slathered in sunscreen and reeking of bug spray. But I don’t care if the mosquitoes eat me, or my hair turns to fuzz. All I have to do is close my eyes, and I can still feel the rain on my lashes and the thrill of first love.
What does summer mean to you? Do you have any special memories that come to mind?