I don't know how to express how much I love summer. It is almost painful to hear the cicadas and feel the heat and know in six months it will be all gone. I anticipate it for half of the year, but it's nearly too much to appreciate.
I have taken so little joy lately in the passing of the seasons and the cycle of holidays. I long for them, but I never get that for which I so long, the satisfaction of doing something to commemorate each event.
I have begun to do this a little with cross-stitch, small seasonal things that I can handle-- an ornament or wall hanging-- but I want to more fully realize what makes summer summer, what makes Christmas so magical, and make it happen myself, because I have a hard time finding it in the world around me sometimes.
For me, summer is snow cones, long walks to Starbucks, cooking and eating food outside, especially hot dogs. It's sitting on the porch in the evenings and listening to cicadas. There are the holidays I celebrate, like New Hope Memorial and Fourth of July.
Summer used to consist of a long period of idleness in which I was bound to run out of things to do. While in school I thought of summer as my creative time because my boredom would so often stimulate new stories or projects. I wish I could savor an expanse like that still. It's amazing how I never thought about never having it one day, even in college.
Even though I no longer have that feeling of idleness, the drowsy peace of cicadas in the darkness, the long days and sunflowers, make me feel each year that I am coming to a new age.