Although it doesn’t say so on the calendar, today had that nagging feeling of being the last day of summer in the Pacific Northwest. Tomorrow the temps drop into the 60s and it begins raining—and this time of year in these parts, the gloom may just settle in for winter.
So Mr. Sorry and I lived the day. I wore my favorite shorts and sleeveless shirt, probably for the last time this year, and we relaxed in the chaise lounges soaking up the last of the sun, reading, and napping.
As the afternoon swooned into a warm summer evening—my favorite time of a summer day—we opened a chilled bottle of white wine that had somehow survived the summer in the fridge unnoticed, then grilled some steaks and wallowed in scoops of chocolate and raspberry sorbet.
It was a great last day of summer—mostly because we grabbed onto it and lived it, as if it might be the last. I wonder why we don’t do that every day?
Why don’t we do that more often? I can just picture the two of you relaxing and enjoying.