The weather has been absolutely heavenly. The temperature has hovered in the seventies with a little dip this past week for a few rainy days. It's cool for this time of year. But it's not cold. It's simply pleasant. Every morning I open the windows to let the breeze saunter through the house. I'd love to fling them open, but here in the U.S. we slide them to the desired position. It shows a certain lack of spontaneity, don't you think? In France I lived in apartments built before the United States existed where I had windows I could and would fling open at night after arriving home, letting the air drift in with the fragrance of summer mingled with voices of people still wandering the cobbled streets.
Summer evenings have long been a favorite of mine, with the world cooling off from an over- heated day, things settling into themselves. But summer evenings aren't so readily available to me these days. Reading bedtime stories, and getting teeth brushed and getting the dinner dishes into the washer fill up my time. Maybe that's why I've so enjoyed these last couple of weeks. I get the feel of summer evenings during the day. When things get too hot, I stay inside. I like my weather the way I like my politics; with an occasional swing to the hot or the cold (I'm all for the four seasons) but mostly moderate.
Summer holds a certain amount of nostalgia to it and I'm fond of it for that reason. Growing up before the over-schedulization of childhood, summer for me was slow and empty, not in a lonely kind of way, but filled with possibility and easy anticipation. It's not surprising then that after the school year filled with all sorts things to do and places to be, that summer would open up clear and easy with memories that aren't over crowed from too much going on. But just enough.
Summer is surveying the green grass from my perch on the swing as I fly up and back. It's playing catch with my dad in the backyard and going to the community swimming pool, living in my swimsuit. Summer is sitting on the front porch at my friend's house watching the moon rise over the mountains and listening to the radio. Summer is walking through the graveyard where the tall trees overhead arch protectively over the dead while I read through epitaphs. Summer is driving down Geneva Road with my sister Lorien, listening to the sound track to Searching for Bobby Fischer and screaming out the window. Why we think it was funny to do that, I don't know. But we did. We still do, actually, when occasion permits.
A glance at the weather page on the internet and the warning is there. The temperature will be warming up. The windows will need to be kept somewhat closed to keep the house cool, and young summer is going on it's way, carried out by the delicious scent of honeysuckle. Still, there are perhaps a few more days of, if not flinging, then at least energetically sliding my newly cleaned windows open wide to let in the morning air.