Hazy sky filters through raspberry swaying oaks. The next door kids climb the maple tree and look down upon my Australian Shepherd seeking solace under the oversized pagoda dogwood in our backyard. My children. Adults now. Laze under stacks of books and sometimes emerge, blinking into the real sun of a young summer month. Standing in my backyard I call my dog into the house and she retreats further into the shadows. Too easily, I give up and marvel that I am outside, wearing shorts. Wind blowing through my hairy legs. The high temperature today is 80.
As the earth careens on its desperately short trip around €“ and tilted slightly closer to €“ the sun, June arrives in the Northcountry. Can our summer months be shorter than other people’s and our winter months longer? Each day passes and I beg it to return. Let me try again. Let me make more of it and have different memories when I am darting between the snowflakes.
Oak canopy | Summer’s gift