Summer

June 29, 2020

Greetings from where I blossom,

Morning takes its time in summer.  The first light, still choosing which color to pull on, is barely showing through the trees.  There is a coolness in the air, a kindness given for those open windows.  Sheets shifted, pillows turned, and dreams went deeper.

The birds were whispering in the forest, the first conversations about the day.  Probably some practical things that early birds are prone to, but I recognized a different lilt, the giggling chirp that was joy in the day.

Summer arrived.  No announcement, no parade, no fanfare.  Just this gentle easing from one day to the next, almost unnoticed.  The sun arrived a little early, unable to contain itself in its delight.  And then it begins.

To be fair, there were signs.  The lightning bugs danced in the warm evenings. There had been a rainstorm, the kind that serves to refresh, not punish, but came with the bass rumblings within the sighing splashes.  The buds on the trees seemed to fan almost instantly, filling out the branches that had endured nakedness long enough.

I knew.  I had been waiting for the first minute, the slight shift from this day to that.  Even in my expectation I felt a little ache, knowing that as soon as Summer began, it began to mark its end.  But that is for another morning.

The sun had chosen a rosy-peach.  There were soft white things it pulled off as it raised up into my day, little wisps of pure cotton against the royal blue.  But in the space between the trees, where the sun began Summer, it was warm, the color of passion, of flowers, of melons and of blushes.

I chose what to wear, a favorite activity in the summer since it really amounts to one thing, a pair of running shorts.  I set out into the world and filled my lungs with the moist air, still clinging to the last bits of dew.

In a few miles I felt myself immersed in the season I was born for.  Summer surrounded me, warmed me in places that had been shadowed since last fall.  I worked my way into the farmland, already lined with the promise of corn and beans, nascent rows of green filling the open places between proud maples, already fluttering their new outfits.

There was something satisfying in the feel of the sun on my skin, not unlike being hungry and tasting the first forkful of your favorite food.  Before long I was covered in sweat, shining in the first light, Summer’s gift to me, the only clothing she knows will always be right.  In those miles I felt myself click into the perfect fit, felt the rightness of the season surround me.  The run was effortless, and faster than I expected, and even in the last miles I was smiling.  I resolved to spend as much time as possible feeling just like this.

Ah, but events conspired otherwise. 

Later in the week, I was chiding myself for letting the days pass without being in a kayak or throwing a frisbee or simply idling in the sun, letting it bake me into my natural state.  It was a momentary thing, like when you realize you haven’t called your best friend for a while.  And there was Summer, patient, but not eternally so.  Summer peered into another morning and felt my ache and offered me this;

The yard was framed in a line of shrubs and wild plants bordering the woods beyond.  It was green within green, but in the magic hour, it was tinted in the blue light of predawn.  I was on my deck, second cup of coffee in my hand. 

Into this tableau two deer stepped from the brush.  They had been nibbling on the low berries and eased into the yard to see what else was on the menu.  They moved with contained grace, the hint of power and strength, but contained in small steps, slow, simple movements.

Behind them appeared three fawns.  They bristled with energy, prancing into the grass with bouncy little steps.  They danced around the deer, springing into the air like ballerinas, teetering on the tips of the grass, barely giving gravity its due.  They played in circles, chasing each other, their dappled coats blurring as they whirled around the adult’s legs.

They spun around, bouncing on spindly legs, now zig zagging across the damp grass.  The deer had barely moved, while around them in the yard the three fawns were flashes of brown and white, and the contrast was a little dizzying.

Suddenly one of the fawns bolted from the group and raced across the yard, head forward, legs stretched out, galloping across the grass and off into the neighbor’s lawn.  I watched her make a wide circle around a tree there and head back.  It was so quiet I could hear her hooves drumming the grass, feel the vibration of her striking the earth as she blazed back into the yard.

As I try to share the beauty of these few seconds, I’m ashamed to lack the words.  This creature, so new to the world, so full of life and promise, and in this moment feeling her power, her potential, and just letting it all out in this wild ride through the summer morning.

The others were still in the same circle as the fawn flew between them and then crashed into the brush and rocketed out the other side.  I saw her burst into the open space beyond the brush and fly across the field.  I know she was unable to stop because her legs were not finished running.

Creation whispered to me: “Summersmith, it’s always here for you to see.  Don’t grieve a misspent day, don’t waste a moment on that, instead look at what I brought you, now.”  I heard it this morning as I watched the sun paint the grass yellow, watched the living things float in the quiet outside my window, the baby bunny pop into sight from the low ground cover, which delighted me so much I laughed until I snorted. 

I realized as I wrote this that the fawn and I are soulmates.  While my legs are not as fresh as hers, we both know the wild joy that is in doing what you are made for, and for us it was to run into Summer, reckless and wild and gasping and for no other reason than the doing it.

Somewhere in the book ‘Jayber Crowe’ the author tells us “..some of the greatest beauties are the briefest.”  In that simple sentence we are shown a truth that beauty will exist in the most mundane moments, in unlikely places, but also it is a warning that we have to pay attention, or we could miss it.  Even when it is us.

Hope this finds you soaking it in,

David

Copyright © 2020 David Smith