Maybe it's because I never went away to summer camp, but I can't really recall particular childhood summers.  I don't have memories of any seminal coming-of-age seasons, of young love found and lost, of entire lifetimes spent in the hazy heat of a July afternoon.  The closest thing I had were church summer retreats, but they were always too short, and my earnest efforts to do as the guest speaker implored and seek God in the midst of the sweltering darkness and the holy ruckus of the main conference cabin as the older kids in the praise band played the chorus for the tenth time somehow made it a little difficult to enjoy the rest of the day without a tinge of spiritual guilt.  After all, the road to godliness was supposed to be littered with persecution and hardship, and not very many friendship bracelets.  So my appreciation for What Summer Meant was always limited.

Until now.

I met Janna four months ago, almost to the day, and I've felt both slightly punch drunk and perfectly balanced the entire time.  We hiked through a mini-waterfall, wandered through fests and festivals, interrupted a picnicking couple with Kuub, broke out of a parking lot, learned that ATVs can drive over lawns on two wheels, and took a Sunday morning jog on Lake Shore Drive.  We read to each other, did a Bible study together, drank beer on her porch, and sat and talked on an old blue couch a million times.  We both tried to break up with each other and failed miserably.  We should be complete opposites, and we are in some ways, but we really are also exactly the same.  I've never met anyone like her.

Now she is in Minnesota and I am in Chicago.  We're making the best of it, but the future isn't clear and Autumn is coming.  I know Summer can't be endless, but I can at least hope that it will last a lifetime.