These are photographs of summer. Each year summer begins with anticipation and ends with reflection. It lasts from Memorial Day to Labor Day.

Summer is for dreams and making plans. Summer is where I wish I went. Summer is hope. Summer is where the magic happens. I spend the winter longing for summer–longing for barbeques, swimming, and love.

Every fall I reconcile with myself that summer may have been good, but it was not as great as I had anticipated. Celebration becomes melancholy, and nostalgia is interrupted by reality. Summer moves quickly and keeps changing. I'll put on sunscreen and eat hot dogs, but before I know it I need a scarf and stew. Sometimes it feels like summer is hiding just around the corner, but then it shows up again in unexpected ways.

I'm particularly exploring how summer is full of both dreams and disappointments. Summer is planned and practiced, but it is never as good as it used to be. Summer is remembering the big wide sandy beaches of our youth and seeing them washed away by one strong storm. The American Summer is the reward earned for living the American Dream; it's an elaborate fiction that I love believing in, but I still can't deny what I see.