Each summer is different, but this one particularly so. There's been a sense of waiting, of longing for resolution, of putting in the days like dull beads on a string. It's not been a gloomy summer, but one fraught with small dramas that make up extended family life. Those dramas can wear away at the soul, rubbing the shine off bright mornings and lingering light-filled evenings.
Last night I wandered through my garden and noticed the hydrangea continues to produce new blooms. Summer is not over yet and there are shining days ahead in which to feel the sun wrapping me in warmth, flowers in which to bury my nose, and walks along the water where the light glints in brilliant shards.
The roses bloom again, smaller than in that first heady rush of June flowering, but sweetly scented still and lovely in the twilight that falls sooner than it did. There are blackberries to pick, dark condensations of honeyed sweetness, ripe red tomatoes to eat warm from the vine, and oval plums to let fall into a basket like purple jewels. I'm planning to let summer linger long.