Tuesday, July 28, 2009

A few thoughts on summertime

Summer. That time when you got to play outside until nightfall. Fireflies. Popsicles. Scraped knees. I can still picture my sis Veronique flying down the concrete hill next to our house, full speed on her Fisher- Price plastic horse. She would hurl herself into the cement, bloody limbs,  and get right back up and do it again with a smile. We had more time with family. Fishing trips, and eating hazelnuts and raspberries in the woods. Daisies and blueberries growing next to each other. 

Later, summer was a time to get a job. Make some cash to spend before school. Summer reading lists (I think I still owe some Library in New York tens of thousands of dollars for some overdue book about Lord knows what... Native American women maybe?...). Tacos at night. 

And then there's summer loves. It's funny, I have fallen in love in both the Spring and the Summer. One was full of scents, flowers, cool evenings, and blue eyes. The other was thunderstorms, bike rides, ice cream sandwiches and slanted, orange light. Both are lovely. 
Summer is emotional for me. I don't know why. Maybe I'm just emotional (duh...some of you are rolling your eyes). I get sad like an end of day rainstorm, and think this awful heat will never end. I feel like a cactus some days. And then others, like today, feel like a day out of a Hemingway novel. Things feel foreign, like some spidery orchid with a secret. I  love days like this. Everything is grey, hot, strange. And begs to be seen and heard. Things happen in the summer. Beautiful, imaginary, lost- in -time things.  These are days that recall all of those memories of summers... days of playing in the garden at dusk, being too tired to eat dinner, too hot to sleep. Days in the city when everyone is looking for a cool oasis. We are turned nomadic on days like this..... the air is of many places. 
I'm playing nomad today. It's a wonderful day, one I am thankful for more than anyone can know. It's a desert, a jungle, a city, a playground, a middle-of-the field thunderstorm day. Sun comes from no place today... everything is hazy, like a blurred painting.  


shopsmart said...

Wait a minute......are you a painter or a writer?! That truly was beautiful. I was especially reminded of the time I went under a fence while riding down a hill on my bigwheel. Or the time we came in the house covered in dirt after riding a dolly down the same hill until night arrived.

If I had to guess, I would say that hot, rainy weather seems to bring out your creativity. *thinking of a previous post where you mentioned a rainy day which made you wish Chattanooga was Paris*

Thank you for the inspirational post.

By the way....I would say "artist!"

Jim said...

I don't know what the future holds, but I'd say that if painting fails to pay the bills (hush my mouth!), you could publish your writing. Beautiful.