when i signed in this morning to write a blog post, i was alarmed - as usual, these days - to see that the last time i was here, the date was may. poof! there went june. poof! july is on its mercurial way to being half gone. next time i open my eyes, it seems, summer will have disappeared and the chill of autumn will be descending late in the afternoon. the older i get, and i know you understand this, the faster the days fly by. those of you with grown children will know this, strongest of all. life is wrapped with brown paper in pockets and packages, sent out in parcels big and small. those parcels seem to get bigger and bigger, and they get sent somewhere before i've even been clearly aware that they were sent. i've tried to document these fleeting days as best i can. when first june began to unfold in my arms, i wrote down a list to keep myself in check, thinking that once i had proclaimed my intentions, then executing them would be as simple as doing them one by one. but you know as well as i should have known, as i never seem to learn, that things are never quite as easy as that. days fill up. afternoons turn into evenings. where did this day go? what did i accomplish in this long day of light? it was an ambitious list, an earnest one. sincere. heartfelt. it makes me smile. at least i wrote them down. the most important things, i think, i managed to do. june begin to wind down before my eyes, and in that last week of the month, i set a date to have a couple of declarations become something concrete, something real. the nature journal was begun, one sunday afternoon out here on the back porch, when i pulled out paints and brushes and a wonderful italian journal gift from a friend and spent two hours with head bent over the opening page, dabbing and wiping and freestyle painting the afternoon away. a rain storm gathered, the sky darkened, thunder rumbled. june. goodness, yes. june, which quietly and gently turned into july, even as i tried to make it stay.
Little Meadow down the hill from Wooded Way continues to fill with wildflowers, tall and short, white and pink and purple and a yellow as bright as the day. i bring them home with me in frowsy bunches, i gather them in noonday heat while walter romps through grass as tall as his head. i don't stop to look at the time; i no longer wear a watch on my wrist. the days stretch out, they slip back inside of themselves and turn a loop that opens into evening. evening is filled with quiet; the lightning bugs flicker, the moths come close to the house and flap their wings against the screen.
i love these moments, all of them, that come with the essence of summer. my house stretches out into the outdoors, the back and front porches and deck all become extensions of the rooms that hold me deep inside, when winter's cold and long nights close in like a giant, soft cocoon. i step out through the front door in tank top and shorts, i walk down the dirt road to see what gifts wait for me on any day in this generous summertime.
how do you spend your days? the ones in which you linger, you savor, you relax? what do you do with your unclaimed time? do you spend it a little with yourself, being kind to your heart, your soul? do you step slowly, breathe deeply, look intently, do you dream of things that are to come, that have already been?
do you know these days, at all? will you make some promises to yourself that are not too difficult to keep? will you make note of this time, before it slips completely away? i'm trying my best to do just that. right here. right now. this time. xo