Bonus Week

Labor Day is as late as it can ever be. School buses stand at the ready. Pools are getting that tired, slimy feel they have late in the season. The mint and basil plants have bolted. The woods are strung with spider webs.

In other words, summer is winding down. But we have a gift this year, a string of hot, high-humidity days; an extra shot of summer — a bonus week.

I try to save the weather, store it in some psychic, seasonal account so that when the frigid wind blows in my face as I walk north on Second Street I will be ready for it. I will be filled with summer, wearing an armor of remembered warmth.

Surely the only way to enter the next season is to be completely through with the one that went before. This week we have seven extra days to accomplish this feat.