“…you too have come
into the world to do this, to go easy, to be filled
with light, and to shine.” – Mary Oliver

Ease feels a thing of the past, my past but perhaps our cultural past, too. I feel it fleetingly – moments or even an hour when life passes effortlessly. I am content and humming – a gentle hum at the cellular level – in a way that goes unnoticed because it just is. I’m in the zone. I’m there. I’m here. I’m now. No need to take note of any particular discomfort or joy – only to be with the present.

But then I am driving to a practice and picking up from a play date. I am trying to wrap my brain around a meeting time, a dentist appointment, a teaching commitment. So much to hold in my mind. So much to go to, get to, leave from. This part never feels easy.

We count the summertime in ways that we never count the wintertime. Do you ever say, “The winter is going so fast…” in a wistful tone? Do you ever long for the two weeks of February that just floated past? ┬áBut here we are rounding up on 4th of July, that high crested wave of summer vacation, and though I’ve yet to taste a ripe peach or local sweet corn, I am achingly aware of the berries passing, the irises long gone.

Out of my necessity to work, the kids are scheduled. They went to DC with their grandma and then camp and now more camps. July 6, we leave for our own trip on the eastern seaboard. All of it is good stuff – memorable and “enriching.” And yet as I watched my daughter do laps at swim practice yesterday morning under the same blue sky and canopy of oak trees where I swam back and forth, back and forth at her age, I wish we were here all summer, lazily going through our paces. No where to go. Nothing to do. Just humming in the moment of our summer selves.

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