Patio Weather

I can feel the summer breeze hitting my face, yet I cannot help but think, This will be the last time this year, as I sip my Aperol Spritz. I adjust my sunglasses on my nose and pull out my phone for a selfie. We pose, laugh, and take a picture.

We sit outside on the patio of a little pub, beneath strings of warm lights that glow softly against the fading blue sky. The air is still warm, carrying the smell of grilled food, spilled beer, and freshly cut grass from somewhere nearby. I can still smell the faint scent of fresh water hitting someone's lawn, someone still attempting to keep summer alive.

We clink our glasses together, knowing that next time, we will probably be sitting inside. I will not be wearing my yellow summer dress; instead, I will be bundled up in my brown knitted sweater. The leaves have already started changing behind my husband's back, splashes of orange and red beginning to appear amidst the green trees.

The cravings for bright, juicy summer fruit will slowly dissipate, replaced by a longing for the warm, comforting flavors of fall. Soon, peaches, berries, and watermelon will give way to cinnamon buns pulled fresh from the oven, their soft layers dripping with sweet icing and fragrant with cinnamon. They will be paired with steaming mugs of hot apple cider, sweet and spiced, with a delicate dusting of nutmeg floating on top. The sharp freshness of summer will surrender to the deeper, cozier flavors of the season: warm apples, brown sugar, cinnamon, and spice.

The first cool, crisp mornings of fall will begin to settle in as I walk my dog. The sun will rise later, and as its light spills over the trees, it will turn every fallen leaf into a tiny flame of red, orange, and yellow. The air will smell of damp earth and wood smoke, crisp enough to make each breath feel fresh and new. A breeze will tickle the trees, sending colorful snowflakes of leaves fluttering to the ground.

As I walk in the mornings, I can already imagine the crunch of the leaves beneath my feet, each step a little more satisfying than the last. In the evenings, the sky will be painted in all sorts of purples and pinks.

It will be a quiet reminder to pause, breathe in the cool air, and notice the beauty of the changing season.

Yet, I sit here on the patio, unable to help but take in these last days of summer: the lazy afternoons spent napping in the backyard hammock, the nights spent sleeping beneath the stars in a tent, already beginning to feel like distant memories. I want to enjoy the last bursts of summer flowers as they slowly wilt, the days growing shorter and the evenings arriving sooner. Leaves are already scattered across the ground, reminding us that it is time to move on.

There is something strange about knowing you are experiencing a moment for the last time while you are still living it. Nothing feels particularly different; the glasses are still cold, the music is still playing, and the evening is still warm, but somehow, I want to memorize it all. The way the light falls across the table, the sound of my husband's laughter, the feeling of the summer air against my skin. I know that months from now, I will look back on this evening and remember it as one of those small, ordinary moments that somehow became special simply because I knew they would not last forever.

We linger over our drinks, stretching out the evening for as long as we can, knowing that soon the patio will be closed for the season and these warm nights will be replaced by chilly evenings and dark skies. For a moment, nothing needs to change. We are simply sitting there, listening to the laughter around us, watching the last light disappear, and enjoying one final taste of summer before the season slips away.

“Anything for last call?” the server asks us.

“No, I think we can take the bill,” my husband responds.

“We’re ready to go,” I say.