Summer’s back. I printed out the fourth draft of Presences of Absences, bought new colourful highlighters, flags, and post-it notes, and am heading into a different season of writing and editing away from the computer. Perfect timing.
Because it’s time to sit on the deck and watch the finches, and on the grass in front of the flower bed marveling at the wonder contained within. It’s time to weed the garden, harvest vegetables, and sow more seeds.
It’s time to fill the pantry. I’m well on the way with jams and frozen berries; and I’ve made, and frozen dollops of, two different kinds of pesto. I think beet pickles are up next.
There’s the daily harvest to gather and tend to—we enjoy salads almost every day now. And books. I’m working my way through a stack of them (with more added regularly) having proclaimed this to be a year of words.
And there are conversions to be had, and prayers to pray, and things to contemplate—always there is the better work. I wake early—too early, some might say—and every morning set intention and begin again.
I remember poet Robert Herrick’s words that I learned one summer long, long ago. I thought I understood them then but I’m only now grasping their truth.
Gather ye rose-buds while ye may,Old Time is still a-flying;And this same flower that smiles todayTomorrow will be dying.