When The Summer Overs…

I have mentioned in previous posts about my friend Monte. This is his second semester at the U of A and I am just psyched to know it’s that time. The fall. 

The semester started last week and it was an odd realization for me. You know, besides college and academics, basketball is what unites us as friends. We love the game. So for the past several weeks(summer) we we’re putting in good basketball time. We would even play outside and go up with the heat. Gotta play.

Monte’s passion for the game gets me determining my passion. He’s fast with the ball, he will tire you out on defense, right before he crosses you up and attacks the basket. Yet, you can’t play to far from him because his shooting hand is ready. He will take NBA threes and sink most of them. In our games of 21, we sweat out the stress and get better at basketball.

There is always this question of the seasons, like which season is your favorite?  What is it that you like the most of that particular season? And I think maybe I’ve always went by the academic calendar. Summer ends when Fall starts, plain and simple. But now that I’m not in school, I am learning new ways of seeing the change in seasons. 

Monte has a busy schedule and is back to hitting the books. That was my moment of clarity the other day about the seasons. I knew the summer was over because my friend has school and wasn’t coming to ball. It was such a silly way of seeing my life but I did have a great summer playing basketball. And even though the summer ended, the games continue. 


Author: storiesfrommystomach

I am from a Village called South Komelik on the Tohono O'odham Nation. I enjoy poetry and philosophy. Hope you enjoy the blog! :)

One thought on “When The Summer Overs…”

  1. “In the day we sweat it out on the streets of a runaway American dream” We all have goals and decision to get us into the next day, I am glad Monte came when he could. On the court, I’ve spent my days with some of the best basketball players known. Thanks for the crossovers and buckets.

    “Tramps like us, baby, we were born to run”-Bruce Springsteen

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