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Welcome to Echo Mass - a creative space for those who seek inspiration. I document my adventures in travel, style, and life in general. Hope you have a nice stay! Shoot me a line to connect!

When the Summer Was Over

When the Summer Was Over


It's October first and it feels like the fall has finally arrived. In fact, today is probably the very last day when it's nice enough to be at the beach. I went paddle boarding and as I pulled down my wet suit (which to support its name does actually get you wet) I felt like I peeled off summer 2017.


The staff at the beach is a bit lazy and a bit sad. You can read it in their eyes. The season is over. Work stops today. The waiters at the beach restaurant are throwing a football still in their white aprons patiently waiting for the last customer to leave. But it seems like many guests like me are holiding on to this last warm day as hard as they can. We are in denial. After all, beer is still cold and the sun brushes you with enough love to apply sunscreen to protect yourself. People are wearing sunglasses and summer hats although sweaters and cardigans give away the whole act, and the slight cold breeze from the lake, an ally of the white aproned waters, whispers: "Go homeeee".

The sign at the bar says - "Today's forecast: sunny with a chance of beer".

I walk through a little forest and notice a picnic. Seven men wearing the same round hats, a reminiscent of their culture, and clothes that you wouldn't expect in an outdoor setting are all standing around a blanket chatting and expressively gesturing. There is a single watermelon in the middle of blanket.


As I paddle to the shore I notice an older couple in what seems to be Indian clothing are taking pictures of something in the water. I get closer and I see a boy of about 12 years wearing a white robe. He is being held my another man and after saying a few words gets dipped into the water. I wish I knew more about what ritual and why this has just happened. But they seem happy and the lake doesn't mind.


A market sold out of summer flowers before noon. The last desperate bouquet that consists of straws and leaves is waiting in the basket to be picked up by someone who just like me missed the summer. The sign reads - $10.


I get into the back seat of the car and roll the windows. "Do you want me to turn the air on?", - asks the driver. "I really don't".

Summer. Is. Over.

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