One leaf at a time

I'm nursing a resentment against leaves.
Not the emerald green leaves fluttering above me on the trees; no, it's the quitters I begrudge, the crispy orange-brown defectors already scattered across the sidewalks, crunching under my sneakers as I walk with my dog Indy.
That's August for you, though. August, the hand at your back pushing reluctant you toward September, the end of summer. August has never been my friend. As a child it meant the end of schedule-free days spent reading, playing Barbies and riding my bike, and a return to school, where I was an awkward, uncomfortable misfit.
As an adult it meant folding my own children back into the routine of early to bed, early to rise, juice boxes, clean socks and homework.
This year August will mark my younger daughter's departure for college in Minnesota. I've been trying to imagine what it's going to feel like to hug her goodbye and leave her behind, an eight-hour drive away. I happen to be blessed with an Academy Award-worthy imagination, but I still can't picture how that's going to feel.
But about those leaves. Yesterday I woke for the day at 6:30 a.m., an unprecedented event for a Saturday. I took Indy for a walk down by the lake and saw the pink sun morph into white, felt the cool breeze surrender to warmer, humid air. A perfect summer morning, of not for those accursed leaves.
"Look at this," I grumbled to Indy, who ignored me. He doesn't share my distaste for the premature leaf drop. To him it's just one more interesting thing on the ground to sniff. I looked up, thought I spotted an orange patch on a neighbor's tree, and felt my heart give its familiar pre-autumn sink.
Then, mercifully, my recovery thinking kicked in - specifically, One Day at a Time.
It's still summer, I reminded myself. It's going to be beach day. At this moment in time all is well. You're walking your four-legged best friend on a stellar summer morning. There's a fresh pot of coffee waiting at home, where your three beautiful children lie sleeping, all together under your roof for a little while longer. You're going to hang out with friends today. This day is all you're promised. Don't waste it mourning the chillier, leafier days that haven't arrived yet.
Fall is on the horizon, and winter not far behind it. But today, today I am alive and well, I'm barefoot, and my windows are wide open, with a fine summer breeze wafting in.
Rather than nurse a resentment, I'm going to sit on my porch and nurse an icy glass of lemonade. Just for today, it's summer!