Today I put on a pale shade of pink and frowned at myself in the mirror. It it spring, or is it summer, or is it fall already? I am becoming critical of these things. Yesterday I woke up and it was May, I think, or April, and now it is almost August. When I think of Summer I don’t think of this year, or this month, or this day, I think of all the seasons past smeared into one collective sigh. A good sigh, a happy sigh, a lay-out-in-the-sunshine-sigh. I can’t remember what I’ve done now, or what I’ve done before, because it blends and blurs together. And like then and now and all those other times I find myself looking forward to what comes next.
I want to hang on to this and I try so very hard all the time to appreciate every single thing. That same tree I’ve walked past every season for the past three years with it’s leaves, no leaves, green leaves, brown leaves, the glitter on the ground as they fall and die and the rain comes and washes it all away. I know these things around me because I take slow snapshots as I go. The snapshots include sounds and smells and the way the cement feels under my toes as I walk barefoot just to feel the sun a little closer.
I do all these things but really I am thinking of what comes next. The feel of a scarf around my neck and slipping my cold fingers around a hot mug. Mixing cocoa on the stove and the way the steam slips and twists and curls around my face. Stacks of blankets on the bed and pillows on the couch. Theaters pump in heat instead of a/c and you wrap your arms around each other just to keep warm anyways. I miss the glittery street lights hung for holidays ahead and I miss the sound of christmas music, even the songs I don’t like so much. Greeting cards and gift wrap, mmm, I miss hot tea and cider, stews, long nights of chopping potatoes and vegetables, pumpkin pie, charlie brown and friends.
I try to tell myself the world goes dark and wet and damp and grey and so sad! so sad! but thinking about it makes me so happy.