Invincible

September 23, 2019

Greetings from the invincible,

Yesterday I sat on the steps of my deck and sipped my coffee, under a maple tree my children named Mrs. Leafley.  It was still dark, hours before sunrise.  Somewhere in the edge of the day, that last day but one, Summer was already awake. 

It was as if she was pouring everything into the morning.  The air was full of Summer.  I raised my hand and could touch the moisture, the life.  I felt the beach, the picnic, the endless sunset, the woods, the whirl of bicycle wheels.  Somewhere beaches debated with the wash of the tide.  Sandpipers raced the wave’s edge toward dry land.  Ants danced over scraps of sugar cones, wrappers from popsicles.  Children turned on their pillows to find the cool place.  Tan lines told stories of gardens and reading near the water and concerts on green grass.

Those images floated against the dark sky, Kodachrome colors against inky black.  The choirs of crickets and cicadas regaled me, urging me into the world.  It is irresistible if you pay attention to it.  How can anyone ignore their best selves in moments like this?  I laced up my shoes and pointed them into the morning.

I ran beyond the streetlights into the farmland.  In the half-light I could make out the shapes of trees, still fully clothed in this season’s fashion.  Here was a pine tree holding an impossible yoga pose. There was the silhouette of rows of corn, final sentinels of this season, their scent reminiscent of every other warm month.

Summer was with me.  She painted me with the same dew that she adorned the blades of grass and the oak leaves whispering in the light breeze.  I felt her surround me, and breathed her in.  I listened to her tell me why I should hope.

I could feel rain waiting.  It was too dark then to get hints from the sky, but I sensed it ached to turn the air from humid to liquid.  The road was brindled with the remnants of the night’s rain.  I wove between oval puddles.  I ran as close to silent as possible, only the shush of my shoes and my breathing challenged the quiet.  And then I said out loud: “I don’t want you to go.”  Summer sighed at me.  Patient, even though we’ve had this exchange many times.

I turned off the pavement and trotted down a gravel road, just far enough so I could see the eastern horizon.  I felt the ache in my muscles, my breath filling me, the blood coursing in me, pulsing in me, proof I was alive.  It was lighter now, somewhere a rooster crowed, wanting to be right. 

I thought I was seeing Summer pout; the sky was dull grey, bruised with charcoal knots.  But that was me brooding, not the season.  I felt her stretch in the morning light, and then tell me.

The warmth of sun on stones.  The life bursting in the flower.  The sound of the creek laughing among the rocks, gurgling in the eddies.  The taste of water pumped from the well.  I was there long enough to feel this.  Wherever you are, Summer will be, she said.  All of this, the green, the smell of turned earth, the wild sunflowers in the ditch, the dragonfly, the peach sherbet sunrise, are in you.  This tickle of sand drying on your feet, the delight in fireflies, the first rumble of thunder, the rain-spray through the screen onto you in your bed.

Somewhere in the days ahead there will be crisp leaves and dried stalks of corn and cooler air.  Then another season will come and cover the world with ice.  And there within you is an invincible Summer.  Have courage, I will be with you.  Wherever you are Summer will be.  You are not a victim of the earth and its turnings.  You are Summersmith.

This settled on me like truth, and I felt it trickle over me in the beads of sweat.  I waited for her to say more, but I knew all there was.  I took one step and another and ran into the world, filling the day with all the warmth and light that was in me.

This morning, just before four, the earth slipped slightly, and the seasons leaked from one to the next.  It was not a revolution, but a peaceful, natural procession.  I stood in the breeze and held my hand out again, felt Summer there.  And put it to my chest and felt her there.

Hope this finds you carrying the warmth,

David

Copyright © 2019 David Smith