It’s August….the first wildflowers of spring spilled into the first gully washer storms of June, which transformed the last of the pea pod vines into bushels of cucumbers, zucchinis and sweet corn. Although it is still hot and humid, there is something on the edges of morning air that hints of September.
How quickly such things happen. Even though I know intellectually that the sure and determined motions of time will not wait for me to be ready, I always find myself surprised when the lilacs are months gone and the Black-Eyed Susans are tall and leggy and leaning over the stone retaining wall. As a child summers were endless, as we laid on our backs beneath the sugar maple tree in the front yard, getting bored and dreaming up things to do. There is something so sweet about those memories of boredom, before smartphones and newsfeeds and so much constant digital noise. It was just the sound of leaves whispering or kids laughing as they ran through the sprinkler next door.
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