When I was a kid, summer seemed to stretch on and on, a forever day of sunshine and happiness. We played games until the sum went down, sometimes even after the stars came out. You know the kind. Steal the flag. Tag. Red rover. Kick the can. Ghost in the graveyard. Many more that have been forgotten or that we created to suit the day. We spent hours on the trampoline. Ran through sprinklers. Pulled weeds in the garden. (Okay. That last one isn't fun, but it was a big part of summer.) It seemed like school and fall were so distant that we would never see them again.
Now summer is full of different things. And the time seems to fly by. Will the peas grow before it gets too hot? Will the weeds get mowed down before they go to seed? Will the AC keep the house cool? Will we afford the electric bill if the AC keeps the house cool? Will I remember sunscreen for the kids before I shoo them out the door? Will they track dirt and mud through the house again because they play in the garden or on the patch where we are trying to grow a lawn? So many things to worry about that take up all the golden hours of the season.
My kids see things the way I used to. All shimmery and joyful and full of light. Today ends when the sun has gone to bed, but the next day will bring the same excitement and fun. Tomorrow, there will be hours spent throwing dirt up in the air and piling pebbles into little hills and running up and down the fence line as they chase the neighbor's dog. They will play with their "across the fence" friends--the little girls who never cross the fence into our yard, but pass toys back and forth. Their skin will be warm and glowing with sun kisses and they will fight bedtime because the sun hasn't said goodnight yet. And then, they will wake up and do it again.
Nothing writerly to say today, friends. Just a reminder that our time is precious and we can make of it whatever we choose.