Summer Clothes

At 6:15am this morning, I folded my summer clothes. I had run home between lunch and chores and done a load of laundry, then bolted back to the school, leaving it in the dryer. This morning I took care of that.

And so there I am, coffee in hand, folding shorts, and swim trunks, and t-shirts, and all this goes through my mind.

Where did it go? This summer, that I looked forward to for so many months back in April and May. What happened? It came and I missed it, I let it slip away, let it slide by too lazy to reach out and grab it, and now its gone, and it won't return for so many months, and I will regret its passing.

Bollocks, I think to myself.

It came, and it was, and it stayed for as long as it should. And I swam in the pond when it was hot, and I bucked hay bails, and sat in the grass and watched Night at the Museum at the drive in, and I watched fireworks, and I drove across country, and I ate at Muggsys with Suzanne and Carol, and I picked carrots with PL, and weeded in the morning with Margaret while Liam read aloud. I browsed art in Chattanooga and walked along the river in Knoxville. I saw friends, and I saw family, and I worked and I laughed. I played with the kids, and rode the Virginia Creeper Trail. I milked the cow, and fed the chickens. I went bowling. I saw movies.

I didn't write a novel. I thought I might, but I didn't.

So, I can focus on what did not happen, and see it all a grand loss...a space of time marked by not enough and too little.

But if I itemize, break it down to the days and the months and the faces and the voices and the landscapes and the miles and the music and the conversations. If I break it down to the number of times I just sat talking, and the number of books I read, and the dawns I watched, and the calf that was born...it was a grand summer. It was my summer. It was the summer I needed most.

So I put away the shorts and I rolled up the beach towel, and I dressed in my school uniform, and I drank another cup of coffee. And now, I'm looking forward to the day ahead. The week ahead. The month and the months ahead. Will this be an easy year? I don't know. Chances are good it will be one of my most challenging years, and chances are better it will be one of my most rewarding.

So, rather than look towards June, I will sit in September, and I will examine the leaves of the day as they turn. And I am grateful.