Last September I wrote about how summer slipped away from me and how I didn't feel I had experienced all I had hoped to. So when the first early ninety-degree day rolled around in June I couldn't wait to get in the water. You see—as much as I love the colors and the feel of the crisp air in the autumn, and for all the fun of quiet snow-filled mornings in the winter, and even all the colorful promise that springtime holds, for me—nothing even comes close to summer.
The liberation that comes with the extra hours of light is heady for me. Light has always been the key to my moods. Perhaps it's the artist in me, or maybe it's some scientific physical need for the ultra violet. It hardly matters.
Light makes me happy.
So I'm going to ignore the sad fact that June 21st is behind us and eek every last moment of daylight out of the next eight weeks. You can expect posts that will include barefoot and chlorinated children and all kinds of grilled food.
There will almost certainly be multiple images of my first vegatable garden ever and descriptions of lazy, pajama-clad mornings.
I expect evenings in the cul-de-sac out front with the neighbors and a few road trips.
Whatever the light looks like where you are, here's hoping it's filled with joy.