There comes a moment when life shifts from childhood into adolescence, and the ordinary cadence of the year opens a new chapter. Summer, spanning July through September, becomes the period when firsts arrive in a rush—the push between finishing one school year and the start of the next, the breath between obligations and the freedom of a break. In that brief blink, memory keeps the firsts vivid while other seasons blur with routine.
We recall the firsts and the lasts—the initial cigarette and its final, the spark that lingers even as the second and third moments drift away. The original thrill slips into daily life, a memory tucked for the next July, the time when survival feels both urgent and ordinary. Life seems staged between summers, a film of early experiences giving way to teen stories and later adult premieres. The fresh energy of a first time lingers as a version of itself in every season that follows, a reminder of how summer once felt. There is a rush, a longing, a sense that the peak moment cannot be recaptured, much like a person chasing the echo of a first high long after the day has gone.
Every year offers a familiar script set in different scenery, whether near the shore, in the mountains, in a small town, or across generations. Create summer memories: first kiss, first romance, first love, the warmth of a campfire and a shy touch on the lips; the sting of disappointment, the first cigarette smoked in secret, the inconvenient stumble of getting drunk and trying not to show it; the first swim without a buoy, the first bike ride into the open, a forgotten scrape turning into a winter memory; a morning spent in a mountain town with ice in a pool, a welcome chill on the skin; the first dance at a festival or on a hotel terrace by the sea, stepping out of a summer movie with a sense of invincible confidence that afternoon, and the night at the beach where parts of the body appear as new, unguarded chapters unfold. These are the moments when a person believes they can be Bruce Lee for an hour, only to realize the scene changes with the tide. The beach party glows, and a memory remembers every detail, even the nudity of youth given a new meaning in the glow of sunset.
If life feels good, there are truths that reveal themselves as the solstice carries on. No sensation compares to those early days, and often they feel dismissed as unimportant because the future remains unseen, and the certainty of what lies ahead seems distant. The first cigarette can spark a cold sweat, quick nausea, and a downbeat aftertaste, while the kiss carries an emotional roller coaster full of hopeful highs and unpredictable disappointments that touch the core of dignity and selfhood. A pure, innocent summer infuses first love with significance, yet self-love often matters even more as days unfold with light and shadow and the unpredictable turns of affection and disappointment that puncture certainty.
There are moments when a memory mentions childhood in Seville, on a patio that holds a thousand stories. The poet may have wandered many times through a quiet monastery of thoughts, yet the cold sands of a Seville night, a rocky path in Cercedilla, or a luminous Mediterranean beach all carry a similar spark. In summer, in both coastal towns and mountain villages, people of all ages experience the first concerts, the thrill of a film, a rush of Olympic feats, and a World Cup moment that stays in the bones. Icons small and grand flash by: legendary players, dramatic goals, and landmark victories that shape the mood of a season. Nights filled with laughter, late-night drives, and the ache of a sunlit afternoon linger as part of a shared memory. Summers carry the risk of dull days alongside the unforgettable sun, and both are a part of the story.
As the years advance, the firsts diminish in frequency and the joy comes in smaller, irregular bursts. The wedding, the divorce, the birth of a first child, an illness, the loss of a friend. And when the arc of life seems complete, there remains one thing still undone, the ultimate last that does not obey the calendar. In those moments, a thought about mortality nudges through the mind, and the idea of starting anew rings clear and simple. The invitation to begin again appears as a quiet imperative: a chance to reset and move forward, carrying wisdom learned from summers past and the promise of new ones to come.