The humidity is stifling. I kept saying to myself ‘after this one more thing, then I will go out and sit’ to enjoy a bit of peace and calm in the garden. Before long one thing becomes four and chores envelope the morning. Then my ears catch the faint sound of raindrops on the leaves of the maples. I have missed my chance. Why did I wait? Why did I allow all the other things get in the way? I feel defeated, resigned to spend this summer solstice inside, away from the bees and the garden and all the things I was hoping to connect with on this fleeting mode, this pinnacle of the year.
Isn’t it funny how we complain about the weather? Too hot, too cold, too much rain, not enough rain. Right now ‘too humid’ and ‘too much rain’ fit the bill for us. Oh the slugs my garen has endured this season!
Yet, for peoples living in the northern part of the world (or the southern for that matter) our lives are continually changing within the parameters of the weather. And for generations people who have lived in these places that fluctuate mark these times with celebrations. With excitement and honor of the changes, and the consistency of these cycles. Doesn’t the beauty of a hot summer day seem more poignant because of the cold ones in February? Aren’t these shifts something to be celebrated, and isn’t that the reason for us documenting the summer solstice to begin with?
After feeling a bit forlorn watching the sprinkle become a deluge, we noticed the neighbor boy trouncing about in the stream that develops on the edge of the road, feet creating little wakes with the current. My heart began to smile. “Wanna join him?” I asked my son. And just like that, the morning morphed into shear joy, for the rain and all that it brings - the puddles and the momentary lull of the insects. I stood and watched from the open garage door, then wondered why I wasn’t enjoying it too. I took my half full cup of coffee and stepped out into the garden, the cool rain tickling down my back. It made me giggle out loud, though no one was there to hear. My bare feet now covered in mud and slick dead leaves.
In truth I should have danced. I should have opened my mouth to the shower and drank the rain in gulps. Instead, I quietly thanked the earth for all that it holds. I watched a wet spider web glimmer. I said a silent prayer of gratitude for this place and this space that I am allotted. This gift of time and noticing.
Later the sun appeared, bringing a new humidity, hot and heavy. Then clouds, then sun. Each new aspect felt like Summer twirling in her newly donned dress asking us if we liked it. Yes, I say throughout the day. Yes to clouds and rain and sun and heat. Yes to the changes, to the cycles that the sun offers us, to feel the heat on our back and the cold in our bones.
In the past we have hosted Midsummer celebrations, but this year will be quiet. Our first opportunity to take a bit of a break from the whirlwind of our summer so far. No matter what yours looks like, I hope you are able to enjoy the day, the weekend, this transition to summer.
And soak it in, no matter what the weather has in store.
This reading has brought tears to my eyes. The beautiful shift in perspective that had you giggling. May we always look to giggle. To dance. To allow a shift to be thanked.
I’ll step out into the Porto sun today with a new gratitude. Thank you Janelle!