Summer means blistering days
And chilly nights.
Summer means sailing all day
And stargazing all night.

Summer means coming about,
Tacking,
Jibing,
Tipping,
Capsizing,
Spitting out salt water,
Sand everywhere,
And getting saturated
Minutes after you decide you won’t come home
Wondering if you or the boat got soaked more

Summer means lying on lounge chairs on the dock afterwards.
Sore muscles baking in the sun,
Relieving the laughs of the day
And the exhilarating speed of the boat
And the smell of the salt in your hair
And the feel of the sand all over
And the muck caked onto your feet

Summer means living in the moment.
And wishing you had gone slower or been easier on yourself
When you finally stop sailing
And your muscles are scolding you.
Summer means re-reading The Notebook
For the millionth time
The same dog-eared, salt-stained, sand-filled copy
You read for the first time
When you were eleven.

Summer means living in the moment
And feeling the speed and the exhilaration
And hearing the satisfying snap and crack
Of the sail catching the wind.
Summer means wishing you were still sailing
Not because it’s the best feeling in the world,
But because when you stop, you feel the torturous pull and strain
Of your muscles from fighting the wind and the boat.
Summer means doing what you love all summer,
Every summer.