Holding Onto the Last Light of Summer

The last stretch of summer has its own rhythm—unhurried, golden, almost tender. The days are still warm, but they carry a softness that wasn’t there in June. The sun dips a little earlier, the crickets sing louder, and time seems to slow in the best way. The days feel softer, like the season knows it’s time to slow down. The light lingers differently—golden and gentle.

Most evenings lately, I’ve found myself on the front porch, a glass of wine in hand and the sounds of a record playing from the house, watching my children dart across the yard, chasing one another with bare feet and wild hair. Their laughter drifts on the breeze, mixing with the soft rustle of leaves. Bare feet slapping the grass, hair flying in the last rays of a golden glow, giggles spilling out into the warm air. Sometimes, I call them over for one last cool treat of the day before they’re off to bed.

This summer has been full of simple pleasures, the kind that settle into your memory quietly but stay forever. River days have been some of the best—loading towels, sunscreen, and a cooler into the back of the car, driving with the windows down, the kids chattering in the backseat. There’s something about the way the river glitters in the sun, how the water wraps cool around your ankles, and the feeling of skipping smooth stones just to watch the ripples fan out. We always come home tired in the best way—skin kissed by the sun, hair tangled from the breeze, hearts light and full.

And then there were the nights—those soft, endless evenings when the porch light flickered on and the kids begged for “just a little more” game of make believe in their playhouse. We’d sit together outside, the smell of summer air and baked apples clinging to us, the last rays of sun disappearing behind the trees.

These moments aren’t grand or complicated, but they are the ones I’ll remember. Sticky hands from popsicles, the smell of something baking in the kitchen, the hum of a summer night as the porch light flickers on.

Soon enough, we’ll trade swimsuits for sweaters, and the smell of cinnamon will linger in the air a little longer. But for now, I’m holding onto these slow, sweet evenings—porch moments, river water, and the last glow from a summer sun.