call of the south

I am a bit writer's block ish. Blocky. Something like that. 

This time of year, I start to feel sort of frantic about soaking up the remaining sunshine (bigger, better happy light: only $140 at the green home products store. I am saving up my pennies), and the thought of the oncoming rain and gloom makes me want to cry, peremptorily. Sun, don't leave me, please!

But it will. It always does. 

The sun is a fickle friend.

Of course, it always does come back, too. There is that.

There has been too little hiking this summer, too little camping, too little basking in the sunlight. I want to grab it all in my arms and hang on. I know that summer will come again, but that next one, nine months away, seems far too distant to be useful. I want more time outside now. Now now. 

Last summer at this time, I had used all my vacation days. This year, I am saving them. I intend to go to Africa next year, come hell or high water. (That phrase, if you think about it, is possibly the best cliche in existence. I defy you to find me a better one.) Maybe the saving up of vacation days is why I feel like this summer has not even happened. I was waiting for summer to start, and then I had the heartache, and then the remaining months were wasted in tears, and now the days are getting shorter and shorter, and I want the long ones back. 

I need to move south.