In the summertime, particularly during the time approaching mid-summer I find myself fully at home in my world. I used to think that early to mid-spring with bright bursts of color and surprising weather was my favorite but I’ve come to think it’s just the pathway leading me to the perfect place.
Here in the Pacific Northwest mid-summer dark does not truly come until 10pm or later, depending on where you are. The air is warm enough to dry clothes on the line within a few hours, or least before it’s time to start thinking about dinner. The roses are flourishing, flowers are blooming proud, and tomatoes, basil, mint are strong and healthy enough to give off their strong fragrances when I brush against them. And in my kitchen the first scents of the day, even before coffee, come from the armful of peonies holding pride of place in the clear vase on the table, and from the nectarines ripening on the counter. Doors and windows open, sometimes all night. The perfect place, the perfect time.
The calendar says I came back from my mother’s home just a week ago, but it could have been months for all the work of readjusting to my own life and place in the world. But then the freedom, freedom of time, space, and being and to be at home in my own house, and at home in the season of early summer. Absolute joy.
It’s interesting to think about the freedom that joy brings, particularly when I’ve been weighed down with care and uncertainty. It feels like my mid-summer Eden-like hours lift the top off the sky and anything, everything is possible.