The story behind the song
Urgency without desperation
I was lying in bed one morning, the sun coming through the window, completely present with my partner beside me. Freckles I’d seen a thousand times suddenly looked brand new.
And I thought: “How many more of these do we get?”
Not in a morbid way. In the most alive way possible.
“Only So Many Summers” came from that awareness—we don’t have infinite time. Which doesn’t make me desperate. It makes me HERE. Fully. Completely. Squeezing every drop.
The maths we ignore
The title is the thesis: there are only so many summers left. Maybe thirty. Maybe fifty. Maybe five. We don’t know.
So what are we doing with this one?
The opening verse sets the vibe immediately—feet hit the sand, shoes off, racing to the shore. That laugh like a bell. Salt on skin. Sun painting gold. Birds are calling from trees.
“Something wild is waking up inside my ribs / Like the summer’s got a secret and I’m learning what it is.”
The secret? This moment is unrepeatable. You’ll never be exactly this age, in exactly this body, with exactly this person, on exactly this beach again.
Presence as rebellion
The chorus became a mantra:
“Only so many summers! / Siyaphila manje!” (We’re alive now!)
“Don’t blink or you’ll miss it! / So squeeze the juice, let it drip down our chins / Roll the windows down and let the whole world in.”
That’s the energy I wanted—joyful urgency. Not anxious scarcity. Not “live fast, die young” recklessness. Just full-tilt PRESENCE.
“Only so many summers left to lose our minds / So let’s get lost on purpose, leave the maps behind!”
The Iintimate focus
Verse two zooms in on lovers rediscovering each other:
“Tangled in the sheets, your hair all in my face / Morning light creeping in, painting gold all over the place / Every freckle tells a story, kissed them all before / But damn, today they look brand new, got me wanting more.”
That’s the paradox of long-term love—familiarity and novelty coexisting. The hand that’s fit yours like puzzle pieces for years can still surprise you with how perfectly it belongs there.
“Little rituals we’re building—coffee sips and lazy days.”
Because it’s not grand gestures that make life rich. It’s the small, repeated moments of choosing each other.
Building the sound
Musically, this needed to be a pure summer anthem. Upbeat folk-pop, 115 BPM, infectious energy. Acoustic guitar loops, organic percussion, handclaps.
The Zulu phrases became the celebratory thread:
“Siyaphila manje!” (We’re alive now!) – urgent, present tense
“Gcina lo mzuzu!” (Keep this moment!) – imperative, hold tight
I stripped the bridge down to counting—building tension before the final explosion:
“One, two, three, four / How many more? / Don’t know, don’t care / Just know you’re here.”
Because we don’t know how many we have left. All we know is we have THIS one.
What it means now
Every time this song plays, I watch people’s faces shift from stress to something softer. Like they got permission to stop grinding for five minutes and just FEEL.
The world keeps trying to convince us that productivity is the metric of a life well-lived. But I’ve never met anyone on their deathbed wishing they’d worked more hours or scrolled more feeds.
They wish they’d paid attention. Squeezed the juice. Rolled the windows down.
The universal uhread
If you’re reading this, you probably spend too much time in your head about what you should be doing instead of being where you are.
Me too.
This song is a reminder to get out of your head and into your body. To taste the juice dripping down your chin. To feel the sand between your toes. To notice the way light catches in someone’s eyes.
“Only so many summers” isn’t a threat. It’s an invitation.
Stop saving your good energy for later. Stop waiting for the perfect moment. This IS the moment. This summer. This day. This breath.
Get lost on purpose. Leave the maps behind. Let the world in.
You’re alive right now. Act like it.
Listen to “Only So Many Summers” and squeeze every drop.
From the album Ancient Roads
