I believe that summertime is magic.
Maybe it’s the summers of my youth spent at overnight camp in the Berkshire mountains where i made lifelong friends and found independence and eventually met my husband. Maybe it’s the summertimes when my children were small and they spent their days sitting in streams building fairy houses at their dear day camp in the woods.
Maybe it’s picking raspberries off of the bushes at the back of the yard and eating drippy popsicles on the deck and that plastic big bird chair we found at a yard sale for $5 a thousand years ago. Maybe it’s snowballs and the swimming pool and the ice cream truck, bare feet and goosebumps and sand in my pockets, the way the fruit is so juicy, collecting rocks at the beach. or maybe it’s just the beach. Maybe it’s the way that summertime is time outside of time, transporting us from one reality to the next. Or the way that life unfolds in slow motion during these days. Or 9pm sunsets. Or fireflies. Or that it’s gone before you know it. Or all of it, all rolled into twelve short weeks and you’re left longing for more.
Summer break started this afternoon and i’ll be savoring each and every juicy bite.