6.14.15 First Sip of Summer

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“And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees, just as things grow in fast movies, I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer,” F. Scott Fitzgerald, The Great Gatsby

As tearfully as I ended the school year, I must admit that my first sip of summer has been delicious.  Summer is like waking up before the alarm, only to realize you have nothing you need to wake up for.  Today we slept in.  We ate breakfast late and lunch early.  We swam.  We drew chalk pictures and created tiny worlds in mason jars for even tinier frogs that we caught.  There is something about this season that enlightens my senses back to believing that absolutely anything is possible.  This summer I might finally finish my second novel. This summer I could actually organize my house enough to have a garage sale (but then we’d have to organize the garage too so we’ll see if that one happens).  This summer may possibly be the one where I read more than a handful of great novels.  Of all my potential plans, there is one thing I will accomplish … this summer, I will remember how to breathe.  I hope this poem helps you take the first sip of your summer too.

This is Where

There is a place that is not a where, but a when  

A time filled with all the promise of ever after

and clocks that serve no purpose

This is where colors are chalked on sidewalks –

then drift and swirl like bright silken threads after a storm

This is where fireflies surround the night sky – 

miniature, incandescent falling stars cast about and dancing 

This is where light breezes whisper secrets to the Willow’s branches,

hiding in-between the hush and the sway

This is where even shadows hold no true darkness,

rather, they stretch and pull long, and lazy … following the fall of the sun

This is the feeling of windows-wide-open –

of no need for blankets, and cool sides of pillows that lead you further into dreaming

This is where clouds make endless parades of possibility across the heavens,

and every eyes-closed-deep-breath is a silent, offered prayer

There is a place that is not a where, but a when  

A time filled with all the promise of ever after

and clocks that serve no purpose

 

Welcome to summer.

Elle 

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