Inspiration from Hemingway to write on the end of summer
For inspiration today, I looked to Hemingway and his suggestion for writers, “All you have to do is write one true sentence. Write the truest sentence that you know.”
So, I begin…
Summer is over.
On this rainy, end of August day, I gaze from my office window, into the lush North Georgia woods, to see the end of a season. Tired and droopy, the oak and beech leaves clutch knowingly to their branches. They’re experienced now, these leaves, mature survivors of storms and caterpillars. They will have their say soon, not to be ignored much longer. Beneath these wide branches sits a stark, white camper. That camper is still and empty, its summer inhabitants captured by other interests and activities. A small branch and a few leaves cover the top of the camper as it waits for a new season of travelers. For now, there are stories to tell.
On the edge of the camper steps is a single red rope. This rope reminds me of mornings drinking pressed coffee from a metal cup and calling my dog from its wanderings. As I look at the now closed space I am reminded of several hot evenings spent with a fan blowing and all windows flung open wide, cicadas buzzing loud in the distance. I see my big boys stuffed into their bunks and their various shoes strewn about. The shoes remind me of my dog’s love of chewing sneakers and all things precious to their owners.
Near the camper is a trash can full of sundry summer items that were once a part of our travels: granola bar boxes by the dozen, worn out foot supports for hiking boots, an empty jar of oil, a broken bike. My memory takes me to those dinners for five at the camper table that were cramped but delicious. The stories will come over Sunday dinners now.
Summer is over, and it was wonderful. We had an epic camping adventure with our family seeing remote and beautiful parts of the country. It was big, this trip and it will take me weeks to unpack physically and mentally.
For now the camper waits. When the leaves begin their show, the camper will fill again with talk and boots and bugs. It’s fall inhabitants will return like a salmon to its spawning streams.