UBob: To The Dying Summer

Went to the dying summer yesterday. It gasped and spit and sprayed us with lake water as it coughed the exhaust of a V-6 stern drive. We burnt offerings of top sirloin to our lazy hazy stomachs as we smudged the mortally wounded season. Baptised in the blood of the sun, feet washed in sand. It was a holy melancholy day. At the funeral we circled our adirondack chairs and gave memorials. It’s always the saddest when they die so young. Summer, we hardly knew you.

Unbearable Bobness of Being