In Celebration of Summer
Last night there was a monstrous thunderstorm. I was awoken by the crashing of the thunder, or maybe the flash of lightning, or maybe just a pause in my own circadian rhythm. I listened as the thunder rolled around my house, as the rain increased from a steady patter to a raging, unrelenting rush of water.
Image: Petra Collins via Refinery 29
I love summer thunderstorms. The way the air cools and the dirt becomes so wet and dark, and how when it rains overnight the morning is quiet and misty, water droplets dripping from the plants outside, and everything seems more alive.
Although I guess in summer, everything is more alive anyway. I am sitting outside writing this article, and hummingbirds are zipping past me, loving each other or fighting over territory or looking for more sweet nectar. There is a rabbit in the corner of the yard, nibbling on clovers. The flit of a neon orange oriole wing in the trees, a mosquito buzzing around my ankles, a robin poking through the grass. There are frog sounds coming from the forest, and the tap tap tap of a woodpecker somewhere, and the chirping of birds and cicadas alike.
Image: Vito Leone via Daily Telegraph
What is summer to you? I haven’t been a child in a few years, but come summer, that green playfulness creeps back into me. It is laying out on the cliffs and seeing twelve shooting stars in one night, bonfires in the backyard spitting sparks into the dark air. Summer begs you to remember, it’s in no rush, please luxuriate in the moment and all of the moments of summer's past.
Image: Iris Humm
Time moves faster even though the air moves slower, like molasses. I think that it is because summer holds within it dozens of mini seasons; there are the weeks in which the lilacs bloom, and when those fade away it is the irises, and then the tiger lillies, and then the raspberries and blackberries ripen on their bushes, and finally there is vegetable season and the glut of tomatoes, cucumbers, and zucchinis that overwhelm the backyard gardens and farmers markets.
The fourth of July is next week, and I think of bonfires, grilling peaches with cinnamon and corn on the cob. I’ve never considered the 4th of July to be that much of a holiday, but it undeniably captures the nostalgia of summer in a pretty little package. It is about laughing with your loved ones, arguments over politics and whether the food is burnt and the state of the world. Summer swells with the noises of passion, the air absorbs the shouts of children running and laughing. Absorb the joy.