We are in the voluptuous days of early Summer now, here on the Chesapeake Bay. Damp green smells. Sun sparkled dapples paint crowded leaf growth. White and green, light and shadow, all through a filter of sugary golden light, and the sweetest flavors of air. Not really a smell, but more a seasoning to the other smells, a tasting, really, of air full of buzzing fast growth of all living things, a vibration to taste, like fizzy champagne. Birds. So many birds, thriving in the lush greenness of the trees, high grass fields and little beach cottages, rolling down to sandy paths and the bay. It makes the busy struggles of the Washington DC area melt away. It is a treasure box of a place, my little home, though I am sure less precious to the outside world. It is our hideout, away from the ballrooms where we perform, and the overture of songbirds and surf are pure bliss. And Doc snoozes a bit late, as musician often do, relaxed and safe and loved. He will wake laughing and the first words he will say will be silly flirts as I bring him morning coffee. After the songbirds, the next song of the morning is Doc’s long moaning stretch, the coffee stretch, before he finds words. Fluffy sounds of shifting feather pillows, and the coffee moan stretch, just loud enough to ensure delivery. Then laughter, little chuckles of playfulness, and flirty teasings, the first banter of the day. This time of year, the flirting will be mostly about toes, for I am barefoot now, and Doc takes a comical delight in the polka dotting of cherry paint on little pale toes, before they disappear into the shoes required for day’s work. Toes and songbirds and shifting fluffy pillows, and focus shifts to hot creamy coffee and the objectives of the day: clients, musicians, music, and running business and too many repairs. Too much to do, and fast, for that is always life, and some things are hard and not fun. And we work long hours to do such things, to earn our keep and create worth and meaning in what we contribute to life. Then, as all do, we collapse into sleep and our dreams. So, as coffee is finished, list making starts, and toes and songbirds shall fade from focus. And the pure simple pleasure will turn to the dignity of work. But right now, this sweet summer morning, drowsy Doc stretches. And all is bliss, and tomorrow morning will be bliss again, for I shall not think complicated thoughts yet. I shall simply be, blissfully be. One pure thought, right here, right now, of the beauty of this sweet summer moment. Time for delivery of coffee in bed, which will rapidly become the complications of tasks. I shall do those things with much pleasure, proud to greet the challenge of the harder bits, before sleeping and dreaming of waking again to one pure thought: Summer Bliss.
Photo of my little summer garden, overgrown from rain, and waiting grooming. Putting my shoes on now.