This is the time of year that marks the beginning of my favorite season. In summer, when it is hot, humid, froggy smelling and quiet, I am a better version of myself. It is easier for me to gain perspective and to slow down. Heat requires a different pattern. I learned that from my brother when we lived in Florida. He owned a landscaping company, and he and his crew went out early in the morning, to beat the suffocating heat of summer late-afternoons.
For me, summer has become the season for washing wool and imagining all I’ll do with it. I occasionally enjoy blasts of creativity and the drive to work up an idea. Last night, I listened to the coyotes, screaming, yipping, barking. I’ve come to crave that sound on hot summer nights. It reminds me of last year about this time, when I sat up late and experimented with hat designs, almost too hot to be handling wool, but not quite. Then, like now, the coyotes did their wild thing and I felt comforted the way I did when I heard snow plows working in the middle of the night the month after we had our first baby.
I may be finally starting to get the hang of understanding and riding the waves of seasonal rhythms. Rather than charging through each day as though it’s a job, I’m longing to respect the specifics. We are not really meant to do the same things day after day, with the same timing and the same momentum. It seems to me like there’s a reason for energy surges that visit some of us in the spring and fall months~ there’s a lot of work to do to bring a garden up and put a garden to bed! There’s a reason for the home-ing in that winter calls for (and that’s so often challenged by our steadfast cultural allegiance to busyness); we need a time to go within. To rest. To regroup. To gather the insight and energy required to face the coming seasons of outward growth and physical labor. And to let go of those things that have died away.
For now, I’ll enjoy the early morning garden tending, the wool processing, the swimming and playing with my children, and the planning. And I’ll relish the moments I get to hear other life happening outside my open windows, in the pitch dark during the deepest hours of night.