August, and Summer, is Gone

As Sam says at the conclusion of the greatest work of fiction in the English language:

Well, I’m back.

Been back five days, actually. All dreadfully dreary. All work and no play sort of stuff.

The vacation, as one should gather from my prior posts, was one of the best I’ve had in years. Though sleep deprived (still am), though I may have had a tad too much to drink one or two nights (days), we did a lot and had a lot of fun in a beautiful corner of the earth, in a gorgeous little apartment light years better than any hotel room we’ve long grown accustomed to. On the ride back Saturday I was mighty sad and more than a little depressed.

Sunday was fun: a trip to the park and library with the girls. One ran, one played in the woods, and one meditated under a tree. I was not the one running or in the woods.

Began Thucydides’ History of the Peloponnesian War (abridged; that’s the ancient war between Athens and Sparta) on the ride home. Got halfway through the 190 pages. But lost interest once back in New Jersey. Set it aside, and continued plowing through Silverberg’s At Winter’s End. Nothing else is inspiring me; I’m slightly down because of that.

Sigh. It’s late and I’m tired. The summer shot by incredibly fast (wasn’t it just the Fourth of July like last week?) and it’s unseasonably mild here. That September nip has been in the air the past couple of days. A tree outside my window at work has multihued leaves already, many fluttering down to the ground. Soon the landscape will be bleak and barren.

Goodbye August. You rushed by so fast I didn’t even get a chance to make your acquaintance …