This is a post about trying and failing to lasso the summer season. I'm not yet ready for sweaters, wool socks and warm chocolate milk, perhaps I will never be ready for such things. I want the freedom that comes with barefoot sleeps and running to the yard where a bramble is full of edible berries. I coo and caw like a crying child — soft white clouds, don't you leave me. Sun shaped shadows along the grass, don't you disappear. Flowers twisting and turning like cotton dresses in the wind, don't you stop brightening the day ahead of me. I belong to the shade of a tall apple tree where the hourglass of living comes to a pause. I am not myself in the hands of another season, but I try. I try, try, and then I try again.
It's all I can do.
I shouldn't cry out like this because instead of lassoing the sun, I will be traveling to the ocean and a week will be spent there with my family come September 14th. It has been over a year since I last squished my toes against the sand and let the salty air sing "you are home" to me. I know I will be filling my belly with all sorts of chowders and fresh from the vine island produce. I know I will sleep like a baby as the sound of sea waves roll me over like a loving mama. I need this. To trade the hum for hush and unplug myself from the wall that is worries and wondering, to stand in my own solitude next to the sea again. I don't know about you, but the sea to me is a place where buds of trouble stop from blooming and all you're left with is a generous helping of everything will be okay.
If only we could all find a place like the sea in our hometowns — a place we can go to when we're searching for the quiet parts inside ourselves that no one ever hears.
outfit details: a vintage affair dress, bait footwear shoes