The Final Class

N’s final class in summer. Accompanying him to all classes for the whole summer, I am sitting outside as usual waiting for him. The summer has been near its end and will end almost imperceptibly this way. Hard to accept. Drank many cups of coffee; many a thought germinated—while waiting.

Waiting in summer. Waiting for the summer’s end? Or waiting for the end of summer’s waiting for autumn?

In the end of all waiting, tender memories always arise and prevail, speaking of the beauty of the lost time that has never been fully appreciated back then, but appears all the more charming and radiant than ever at present.

N’s summer, my summer. Indeed a memorable summer.