This summer has been elusive. There was not an endless stream of interruptions emanating from the refrain, “mom, get your camera,” as I step away from the kitchen sink, grab a towel to dry my hands so that I can grab my camera, to take a picture of the endless parade of turtles, fish and frogs that come across the deck.
That parade wasn’t as endless as I had thought. Â Looking back, I am positive I snapped a picture for every heartbeat that strode across the deck. But my own heart my not have always been in it. Â This makes my heart wince.
The heat has been gone. The kind of heat that makes you bare skin you’d never think to bear. Â As if the furnaceÂ of summer went out and nobody bothered to call the repairman. Â Still searching for that stretch of time when the kids run barefoot in the warm grass at night filling jars of fireflies.
I’m still searching for the great summer read, although I might already have it in my Kindle; I don’t know it because I have yet to settle under a tree long enough to read and let time stop.
All of this is my fault. Â The people and the place were the same. Â It was me that changed. I didn’t get keep to the routines of taking time to read, taking the canoe out every day or rising early for sunrise to take time for myself. Â It always comes down to routine.
Do I sound like the mom who isÂ in denial? The mom who isn’t Â ready to admit that her children are growing up in the air changing?
But I have forgotten who I was last winter, while I was in the throes of snow. Â I’m grateful that seems like a distant memory. Not because I hate snow, or anything as trivial as that; more because this means I have travelled from there. Â Summer has carried me someplace new. I may not have travelled in the places I expected to go this summer, but the great ride of summer has taken me somewhere, and I may not fully realize where until the snow is back.