There she goes again. July. That slow-talking Southern girl who blurs my world, swiveling her sweet tea with a stick. I’ve actually come to hate July a little in recent years, but this one, I can tell…she’s going to be good to me. On day one, she is reminding me of the endless universe of summer, the walking in slow motion quality we all knew as kids.
When I was young(er), July was like a safe spot, a private alcove tucked away where no one could find or bother you. And she showed up just in the nick of time, like a female Captain America, with her shiny shield and all. You always knew she’d come to the rescue, and bring her slow, Southern smile and sweet tea breath. Come on home in, July. It’s nice to see you.
As suggested, I am finding space in this summer – absolute, beautiful space. The kind of space that is in between moments, when you find yourself falling into the moment, as if time could swallow you whole. I love this life, for its very sensuous and still moments in time.
How easily we get out of whack; we crinkle up and get rusty like clothes left in a corner or folded chairs left in the rain. It’s hard to come unstuck, hard to flatten out after so many months or possibly years of keeping those positions. The absolute beauty of teaching is that it offers summertime. Even though I am teaching one class, my job feels more like a hobby than it did during the regular school year. It’s lighter fare on what was a meatier menu.
And it’s still that time of the summer when being home each day with Asher is a novelty. We’re getting reacquainted, like old friends, as we learn to keep time to a new rhythm. Our days are lazy and unencumbered by drives to his school and struggles to be out the door.
Here’s to July. That good ole’ gal, waving her flag of surrender and retreat.