I noticed it just today. The light is changing outside. How can that be? How are we already getting hints of autumn before I feel I’ve had a chance to fully enjoy summer.

It was just yesterday that I kicked off my shoes for the first time this season and stuck my toes in the sand of a nearby river bank.

Wasn’t it?

This summer, more than any other summer, time has slipped through my fingers. Somewhere in between rolling into work before the sun came up and ending the night recharged after a couple of hours with coworkers around a good drink, summer has taken place.

I had plans for this summer. I wanted to steal the Sweet Boy away for a romantic weekend at the coast or load up the car with gear and head out for a weekend camping trip at Lost Lake. We had planned to tie on our hiking shoes more often and explore new to us trails and cool off in the mist of a seemingly forgotten waterfall.

Summer, I had plans for you.

Now it feels as though I’ve run out of time. Yesterday looks like it might have been the last strong blast of summer air. As long, spindly fingers of heat not so gingerly reached towards the triple digits, Portlanders, the non-AC champions they are, searched for places to cool off. Patios were bursting at the seams with hipsters and cool pint glasses of IPAs. The docks along the river were speckled with sun bathers. The fountains played babysitter to packs of kids running in and out of the man made geysers while parents wilted nearby on a bench.

Today the sun crept back into a pile of clouds. Attempts of rain showers dotted the valleys and mountain crests. The breeze from the coast sighed across downtown and the patios were void of yesterday’s beer drinking champions. And now, at 8:15pm, my back porch is a bit darker than it was this time yesterday.

A walk to a meeting today smacked me in the face with the most abrupt question “any end of summer plans for you and your husband?”. Well… ummm… sure… we… uhhh… well… I scrambled for an answer suitable for any Pacific Northwest inhabitant. I wanted to brag about a condo rented along the coast, or a summer hideaway in Mt. Hood National Forest or perhaps one last float trip in the high desert. But none of those are in our plans. As I opened my mouth to say that I hoped I’d make it out to a river this weekend, even if I was flying solo while the Sweet Boy heads north to Seattle for a couple of days, I remembered…

THE GORGE!

Or more importantly, Dave Matthews Band at The Gorge! In the rush of today, in the last gasps of summer days, I had forgotten the one thing I’ve been looking forward to all summer. My sister is flying in from Arkansas so I can show her around Portland and so that we can go get our fill of DMB. I blurted this information out in such a fast and high pitched voice, I was sure the person asking hadn’t understood a word of it.

But they did. A nod of approval and a few tips about the venue later and mission accomplished. Someone else is now jealous of my end of summer plans and wishing they had bought tickets themselves. I feel like I’ve passed the summer torch. The person who took kayaking lessons all summer passed it along to a friend who made a float for the Willamette Float a few weekends ago who then passed it along to me to carry on to the next person.

Summer, I’m glad I have not let you down. Please don’t let me down with any last, dying breaths of triple digit air. I’m all for a last hurrah, but please let me celebrate in 80 degree temps. I prefer it that way.