Summer always has felt like one sun-soaked gift to me. I savor it, like a coveted chocolate treat.
As I walk in the quiet of morning or sit outdoors at night, I think, this is what I longed for as I waited on snow-slicked L platforms or rushed through errands on the rainy days of spring. This winter in particular, and the awful spring that followed, what got me through it all was thinking, ah, summer is on its way.
I’m not alone in this sentiment. What always has helped Chicagoans tolerate our lousy weather is knowing summer will return.
And when the annual All-Star baseball game rolls around, I grow melancholy, because to me, that’s the beginning of the end. Make summer stop right here, I wistfully think in vain.
But not this year.