Dog Days & Vacations
What is it about summer? I love the sunshine, the fresh air, the trips, the long days... and yet, yet, yet. Summer is a time to gather ideas for a writer, to look around, to talk to people, to get outside the little box of the office. Summer is not a time to write, not in depth.
This feeling -- and it is mostly a feeling because I could write more if I really wanted to do these days -- dates back to the days of having small children when the school or day care schedules were disrupted in the summer months. I loved my time with my kids. Don't get me wrong. I miss them to this day, their little bodies, their funny faces, their amazing insights and piercing laughter. I loved our times together as a family more than anything. It made me whole, for awhile. And yet, when they were out of school and I didn't have that thinking time for writing, when interruptions were more the norm than chunks of quiet, I sort of lost my center. I would drift off into thinking about my writing but more in a "wish I could chew on that for awhile instead of making lemonade" kind of way. Writing centers me. It has for years now. Without writing I would not be whole, I would be in pieces, shattered in a way. Writing glues it all together for me.
It's not the same these days. I can close the door and write when I want to, and I do. Yet summer is short. The fish are biting. The sun is shining. The river is twinkling in the morning light. Swallows swoop for bugs. Neighbors call over for a beer. It is a lovely, short-lived time called summer. My other self says: Enjoy.
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Rosy Cole says:
A time to reflect...
How I agree with you, Lise. Summer is a time for limning outlines and relating to others more freely. We never lose the momentum of the academic year which, in itself, follows the rhythm of the seasons, tilling the ground, sowing and reaping. The church lectionary reinforces it further. But there's always the pull of the keyboard or pen for a 'dyed-in-the-wool' scribe. When writing's on track, everything else seems to fall into place and it's impossible not to get hooked on the elation of being in control. But we need to free-float for while and store up the images. The act of capturing moments in time with evergreen phrases means that we experience the world in deep relief and never really forsake translating it onto the page.
Savour the summer without guilt, while you may. Hoard up your impressions, give your subconscious time to do its digesting. My Springador, Jack, reckons summer is tops. There's nothing like galumphing, dolphin-like, through the cornfields, or making a trout-scattering splash in the streams. But then, every day's a 'dog day' to him!
ricarda suneson says:
summer
i agree with you Lise, that summer is short lived, however for me it leaves a comets tail of warmth well into the months beyond summer, when can we really call summer over, when the lightening bugs diappear from evening cookouts, or when the crickets deside to hide for good, or maybe when that warm sunshine on the back porch starts to feel short on time. conversations our center in time, our experiences the edge of time.