No-one can deny that the summer of 2012 has been pretty awful, but it’s picked up slightly here at the very end – not quite an Indian summer, but certainly better than could be expected. I went out walking last night, in a surprisingly temperate evening that not only allowed short sleeves, but also a compelling lack of goosebumps. Strangest of all, though: it was dark. Up here in the north, summer equals light. Even as far south as Oslo, it doesn’t get completely dark at the height of summer, and dusk never quite segues into night.
For that reason, summer seems over to me when night starts blanketing the city again. Granted, this is silly: it’s only early September and warm weather is hardly unprecedented, yet it felt as though I were crossing the street in some country further south.
And walking around the neighborhood, I happened upon one my favorite things about this place: people stubbornly enjoying the park, disposable grills still akindle, laughing, playing games, and simply refusing to accept the end of summer until the point it can’t be denied any longer. Lazily resisting, if not quite raging, against the dying of the light, as it were.