I don’t judge the start of summer by any particular date or outdoor temperatures. Nor do I claim it begins when my tomatoes are of a certain height or when the raspberry patch reaches a certain level of prolific productivity. It does not start, for me, on some lingering solstice when the sky spins with an eternal twilight and the thick scent of wildflowers on the mountain slopes makes my lungs slow and romantic.
I mark the start of summer when he leaves.
It ends when he comes home.
I just sent him to Winthrop, Washington to attend 2010 smokejumping rookie training — to jump out of air planes and fight forest fires. I just sent him on what might be the adventure of a lifetime and quite possibly to the most difficult physical (and mental) experiences he’ll ever have in life! But I won’t be outdone in this realm and I plan to have my own adventures this summer. Lots of them. My head and heart are in excellent spaces, I’m feeling light as a feather.
I stake my claim on this season
and will draw from it
only the
very
best
good.
I stake my claim on this season
and will draw from it
only the
very
best
good.
Bon voyage, best friend and lover.
My heart is steadfast.
And I believe in you.
Wish him luck!
Send him positivity, prayers and strength!
See you about, chickadees!
xx