Today is not at all like

the past two days.

First of all,

it’s no longer the weekend.

It’s Monday.

Furthermore,

it’s not hot and sticky,

but cold and rainy.

 

Today is Labor Day –

a national holiday to celebrate the American worker.

No small irony in these times…

One of my European friends described it as:

“That funny American holiday at the end of summer…”

 

Summer’s last hurrah,

one last celebration

of picnics in the park,

hot dogs on the grill,

cold beer in coolers,

boats on the lake.

 

A day to celebrate the life of Riley,

to lay in a hammock

and contemplate the subtle nuances

between work and labor and toil,

to observe poofy clouds transforming

from dragons into unicorns,

to shoo away flies in the sultry heat.

 

But this is not like another summer holiday,

the 4th of July

with its festivals, fireworks and flags.

Summer stretching out forever,

an open road, the beginning

of an endless highway where all things are possible.

 

This is the anti-climax, the denouement,

the final act, the fat lady singing.

It just doesn’t have that festive, holiday feel.

First of all, there are no poofy clouds,

it’s gray and pouring down rain.

Furthermore, it’s no longer the weekend.

It’s Monday.

The Boys of Summer