The fog fell heavy, ghosting expectations for anything resembling sun or summer. The season’s first hours might have invited fresh intention, but all I wanted was a hot sun and a cold beer.
Summertime should be soaked with goals of a trimmer beach body, a garden full of vegetables, fixing the banging back door, and plotting together-time itineraries. I should be setting intentions toward moving more mindfully, staying focused on writing submissions, getting some races on the calendar.
But the fog cloaked, then gave way to 30knot winds, horizontal rain, and temps barely in the 60s. Emotional eating felt more appropriate. There was a good novel, the Monaco Grand Prix, and editing our vacation photos, but intentions remained elusive.
There came a few backyard moments filled with fleeting shadows and semblance of blue. The boy robin wanted to mate with the girl robin and chased her from mimosa to magnolia to maple and back to magnolia. When the boy wants to mate there is no rest. One of those devilish looking jumping spiders welted my right ankle red, and the tiny sugar ants were literally up my pants, proving truth to never aging adage. Obviously my positive approach to the weekend was manifesting through the crawling creatures.
It’s not officially summer, of course. I have no excuse for complaining, especially for how much I love the solstice, but everyone in the US knows the Memorial Day weekend is the left bookend of summertime. Common knowledge also shares this time is scheduled to be hot and filled with red meat for the grill. And beer. Cold beer.
I managed to grill but the chill in the air kept the beer in the fridge. We made hot tea instead and it makes me noticeably sadder to write the act as a sentence.
And as I post this three days after the holiday, the fog still hasn’t lifted. Neither from the tops of pines nor the bottom of mind. Perhaps the solstice shall offer proper light for intention. And this damn spider bite will have stopped itching.
1. Cover design by Author
2. Cover photo, Emanuel Rodriguez, Unsplash
© Copyright William Hazel, 2023
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