Ahhhh, summer has reached its peak and relinquished its voluptuousness to dropping temperatures and shortening days. . . preparation for winter, for physical hibernation and creative awakening begins. My soul swells with percolating thoughts, ideas, musings. . . dozens of half-finished paintings await my attention as my plants cry out in exhaustion to stop the insanity.
My mind is filled to the brim with memories of the summertime senses, strong and delicate smells, bold and subtle colors, intense and simple experiences,
Summer sounds, oh how I will miss the outside sounds. . . not the barking dogs and screaming kids. . . .but the train whistles, boat horns, birdsongs, buzzing bees, giggling and splashing in the pool.
I keep my windows open constantly and if the kids weren’t milling about I’d keep them this way for a few more months, piling sweaters upon long-johns and wool, wool, wool.
Fresh air, oh how I will miss the fresh air. . . not the smoke of campfires or the stench of squash vines. . . .but the fresh lake wind, sweet blooming basswoods, a sprig of lavender or lemon balm and fresh-cut grass.
I peer out at my gardens expectantly and hesitantly hoping for produce, but worried I won’t have the time or energy to process it for winter storage.
Tastes of summer, oh how I will miss the tender spinach, fresh picked string beans, zingy radishes, vine-ripened tomatoes, not the labor of readying the beds, tilling the ground, planting, weeding, watering, watering, watering, harvesting, canning, freezing, dehydrating. . . . .but the satisfaction of a hard days work topped off with a supper of homegrown produce and long walks sprinkled with wild raspberries.
Then of course there’s the soft touch of lamb’s ear, the sights of life cycling and most importantly the reconnecting as a created being into creation. . .these are the memories that will sustain me through a long, cold winter.