Poetry

I can be your summer if you let me

Ain w Zein, El Chouf, Lebanon

I’m a challenge.

When there’s a countdown to my arrival, I will remind you to live every minute.

I don’t mean to say I’ll hold you back when I knock on your door, but things will surely be different when I’m present.

Life with me is beautiful; it has the reddish brown colors of nature all over it. Exquisiteness you can only see in paintings and music.

But I know you won’t appreciate my magnificence, I know you’ll long for the days I wasn’t there.

It won’t hurt me because I know what I’m made of. I know that I set the most scenic displays you’d ever see in those skies.

I’m the misty morning you never take a moment to thank God for. I’m the light breeze playing in your hair.

I can show you what you don’t care to acknowledge because you’re too hung up on the sunny days.

For now, I will learn to be content with being your reminder to make the most of your last days outdoors.

I’ll be your reminder to go on that picnic near the lake, to make time for paragliding over your city, to take those long walks by the beach with the sand curled up between your toes, and to watch his eyes turn to hazel under the bright sun rays.

I’ll learn to be content with all that you’ve allowed me to offer you.

But don’t ever tell me I’m the reason you’re unhappy or the reason you don’t show nature your love anymore.

I can be your summer if you let me.

But see, I’m not selfish. I’m not one to ask for all the attention.

I’m a passing breeze that you could enjoy if you just let yourself. I’m with you for just a few passing minutes.

If I were you I’d enjoy my misty mornings, my spectacular displays of flocks of birds flying south, the leaves covering my feet, the trees turning a new page, and the clouds dancing around.

You can’t do that, can you?

You’re not one to enjoy whatever life throws your way. You’re not one to love everything around you in whichever form it presents itself.

You’re one to put beauty standards for things that can’t be confined to such criteria. You’re one to limit your happiness to made-up timings.

But still I have hope,

I can be your summer if you let me,

Yours truly,

Autumn.

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