I remember you. Summer's greatest tattoo. In all your glory and even after your defeat. It took a lot to develop you and even longer to make you disappear. Only after months of hiding you beneath socks did you take your final bow.

Soon you'll be back. Each pale stripe crafted so carefully by the sandal strap overpowering it. To most, you might be meaningless. Or perhaps a reminder to apply more sunscreen. But no matter how much sunscreen I could apply, you would still rear your head. And that's not necessarily a bad thing.

You represent summertime. The heat of the scorching afternoon sun. The adventures of life I am carried to by the big feet you ferociously protect. Your solid plastic heels guard from rocks trying to protrude on my fun, your worn straps perfectly arranged to accept my stubby big toe. Your intricate pattern chosen so carefully in the shoe store that day, your colors barely fading.

My pale skin waits all winter to see the light of day, and when it does, it rejoices. It soaks up rays like a turtle basking on a rock, but it never seems to be fully exposed. A perfect, even tan means no shoes were necessary, but these pale strap lines refute this ideal. To be formed meant hours in the sun, in the sandals, in the sweaty, humid air.

You stick around for a while, but nothing can stay forever. You must be on your way, my feet return to their sock hibernation, the sun must soften its glow. You fade into me, promising to return with the change of the seasons and the emerging smell of coconut in the air. You represent the imperfections and the slowing of time.

I guess I'll be seeing you soon. As soon as the sun comes out, I'll strap on my sandals and let you do the rest. Thanks for telling the story of summer.