And the long-anticipated moment has come.
The moment where I run barefoot to the backyard, stretch out on a brightly-colored beach towel, turn back the cover of a fresh novel, and feel the kiss of sun-warmth on my back.
And all the summer moments that follow.
When I woke up I didn't touch the curly little wisps escaping from my ponytail.
I didn't set an alarm.
I didn't worry about anything.
The youthful faces of jubilant sunflowers on my windowsill greeted me.
Mail -- three perfect little notes -- lay on my desk awaiting my fingertips. "I hope you've found some moments to let your mind wander, to create and celebrate life in all its beauty, and to feel the peace and presence of God," wrote a dear friend. "Use this time to think, Em," wrote my best friend.
My favorite rosebush, with its tiny, fragrant, delicately purple blooms, is done flowering. I collected three eggs from our chickens -- each was a slightly different hue of brown, a slightly different ovoid size. The blueberry bushes are laden with promising, pale little blushes of unripe berries.
I listened to my mom practicing Debussy's Clair de Lune.
I stirred a thickening roux over the stove as I reacquainted myself with my family's laughter.
There's a red-and-white china teacup, a bird's nest with broken robin's eggs nestled inside, an antique electric fan, my Grandpa's toy car, a deteriorating old copy of Jane Eyre in French on my shelf.
Oh yes, I am remembering... I found that '50s clock in an Istanbul pawn shop and carried it home in my suitcase. I picked up that postcard at the Anne Frank museum in Amsterdam. I bought that art print from a booth in Pike Place Market. And there are the photos. Dancing, rolling with laughter, embracing, growing up, lapping up ice cream... I remember travels and lessons and who I am and who has loved me.
I sit in the redolent haze of affable memories.
And I remember other summers, the feel of speeding bicycle tires and sandpaper-rough diving boards and heat-radiating sidewalks, the taste of melting fruit popsicles and late-night dinners outside, the sound of lawns being mowed, the scent of dry pine trees and wild sagebrush.
Kisses of indefatigable summer,
of blessed solitude,
of buoyant activity.
Home is familiar and yet I rediscover it every time after a long absence. And I begin to know its impermanence and see its transitions. And so I grow all the more thankful for this long-awaited time at home.
'Loveliness,' says the top of the old tin chocolate box that rests upon the stack of coffee-table books.
The moment where I run barefoot to the backyard, stretch out on a brightly-colored beach towel, turn back the cover of a fresh novel, and feel the kiss of sun-warmth on my back.
And all the summer moments that follow.
When I woke up I didn't touch the curly little wisps escaping from my ponytail.
I didn't set an alarm.
I didn't worry about anything.
The youthful faces of jubilant sunflowers on my windowsill greeted me.
Mail -- three perfect little notes -- lay on my desk awaiting my fingertips. "I hope you've found some moments to let your mind wander, to create and celebrate life in all its beauty, and to feel the peace and presence of God," wrote a dear friend. "Use this time to think, Em," wrote my best friend.
My favorite rosebush, with its tiny, fragrant, delicately purple blooms, is done flowering. I collected three eggs from our chickens -- each was a slightly different hue of brown, a slightly different ovoid size. The blueberry bushes are laden with promising, pale little blushes of unripe berries.
I stirred a thickening roux over the stove as I reacquainted myself with my family's laughter.
There's a red-and-white china teacup, a bird's nest with broken robin's eggs nestled inside, an antique electric fan, my Grandpa's toy car, a deteriorating old copy of Jane Eyre in French on my shelf.
Oh yes, I am remembering... I found that '50s clock in an Istanbul pawn shop and carried it home in my suitcase. I picked up that postcard at the Anne Frank museum in Amsterdam. I bought that art print from a booth in Pike Place Market. And there are the photos. Dancing, rolling with laughter, embracing, growing up, lapping up ice cream... I remember travels and lessons and who I am and who has loved me.
I sit in the redolent haze of affable memories.
And I remember other summers, the feel of speeding bicycle tires and sandpaper-rough diving boards and heat-radiating sidewalks, the taste of melting fruit popsicles and late-night dinners outside, the sound of lawns being mowed, the scent of dry pine trees and wild sagebrush.
Kisses of indefatigable summer,
of blessed solitude,
of buoyant activity.
Home is familiar and yet I rediscover it every time after a long absence. And I begin to know its impermanence and see its transitions. And so I grow all the more thankful for this long-awaited time at home.
'Loveliness,' says the top of the old tin chocolate box that rests upon the stack of coffee-table books.
No comments:
Post a Comment