Been staring at a blank computer screen for – well gosh – I don’t really want to say how long now. Too long. I don’t think this is writer’s block slowing me down. It’s more like so many topics and the misgivings of if any of them would really develop. I don’t worry so much about my time, as yours. If this week’s effort falls flat in your estimation, will you give me another chance next week?

What’s given me considerable pause is that when I named my file, starting with the date it should publish, it was more of a shock than it should have been to key in 07-26-15. Summer’s practically over and we’re headed for the start of school like we’re on the downhill side of a roller coaster ride.

That’s OK, I guess. I have no problem with school starting sooner rather than later or any of the busy constant activity associated with it. All I’m saying is “end of summer” seems to be getting here a lot faster than should be possible.

Years and years ago, the summer between my junior and senior years in college, my good friend and I were doing our newspaper internships at the San Angelo Standard-Times. Our shifts were 4 p.m. to midnight so we spent our days finding great summer time adventures – kayaking on the Concho, short bicycle trips out around Lake Nasworthy, (oh) and working on the great American novel, the pages of which have never seen the light of day.

Anyway, it was a really great summer and during downtime one of the last nights in the newsroom, my friend pretending to work at one of the manual Royal typewriters in the newsroom typed a long narrative poem on a strip of the pulpy paper that fed into the AP machine.

I remember best the line, “After the summer, there’s got to be a fall.”

Summer 2015’s been a good one too. Maybe not as adventuresome as 1973, but a good memory-making one just the same. Sons, granddaughter and I went to see the Rangers/Red Sox game in Arlington. Our Fourth of July in Sanderson was a remarkable reunion of old acquaintances, friends and family, a feast of barbecue and a near overload of good music.

I must also count as a highlight my friend Helen’s and my quick trip to Brownwood to catch the opening of “Guys and Dolls.” What a fantastic show and what a treasure the Lyric Theatre is. Thank you to all involved with the Lyric Performing Arts Company for the vision and tenacity to see the facility restored and for delivering on the promise of great community theater. There may be seats available for today’s matinee finale. You should go if you possibly can.

What’s made this summer also delightful have been the good moments in-between the highlights. Sigh. I’ve had enough slow-down for some of the best Sunday-afternoon naps I’ve ever slept; a diminishing of the usual hurry to just rest a bit and let things be. Root beer floats with my granddaughter in the afternoons after sports camp; or cantaloupe and cold watermelon and garden-grown squash and tomatoes randomly cut, peeled or sliced for a sort of late evening supper; homemade ice cream with my neighbors; porch sitting with my old friends, married now, who have confessed the great American novel begun the summer of ’73 waits for its finish on a top shelf of their closet.

This will seem random that I am throwing this in now, but I am so on a roll. Bear with me. This year the hummingbirds have been slow to come to my feeder, but finally the word’s gotten out and there’s a steady and constant dart in and out of the little hummers.

But this year’s little birds are different than those that came to feed last year. They’re brown, not brightly colored, and they perch on the little plastic bars in front of the flower-shaped feeding spouts. They stay a while and enjoy the sugar water instead of drinking in flight and hurrying off.

Hardly a five-minute span passes before one is gone and another comes. I watch every chance I get and am impressed and delighted with each visit. I’ve realized because of this the wisdom of taking time to enjoy, instead of “sparing” the time to do what I want to do but never really stopping to do it.

Summer is flitting by. Hope you get the time to stop and enjoy it.

EDITOR’S NOTE: Candace Cooksey Fulton is a freelance writer, formerly of Brownwood, living now in San Angelo. She can be reached at