Summer hasn’t been my favorite season since I was a kid. I loved it then for the wildness, the freedom. Being outside all day, every day. I can conjure memories of laying on freshly cut, soft green grass and staring up into the sky looking for pictures in the Michigan clouds. I remember swinging over a ditch by a willow branch. I climbed that willow tree and tested my fear. I remember what the sunsets felt like. I was developing my sense of nostalgia watching the colors burn the horizon. I remember running through a sprinkler, being out on the lake as often as I possibly could, water slides, firecracker popsicles, toasted marshmallows, sparklers. How could I forget?
I have the blessing of experiencing all of this with my daughter now. I see the way strings of lights reflect magic in her eyes. She uses a cardboard box to sail over imaginary seas, walking planks and plundering pirate treasure. She drinks from a hose, belly laughs, twirls ‘til she’s dizzy, floats with a brightly colored tube on the bay. She looks for dancing, dappled light beams in the corners of our home. She lives for tales of Neverland and Peter Pan, spends all day reading on her bed, sings at the top of her lungs, jumps into oncoming ocean waves in nothing but her underwear, creating the fibers of her own childhood magic.
Brought to us by summer.