Summer Memories

image found here

When I think of the perfect summer days of childhood, I see an endless field under a high sun.  Not a tilled farm field, but a wild field near a river, edged with the high rounded green of treedom.  The sun doesn't bake, but caresses the riotous mix of grasses and wildflowers, rich with queen anne's lace and punctuated by small white butterflies.  The slightest of breezes rustles the arching grasses and nodding white flower heads, all of it overlaid by a variegated symphony of crickets, cicadas and tree frogs.

  And there we pass, children on bicycles, crunching by on a dirt road, our chattering voices buried in the immensity of the sun, the field, the insect chorus.  We are headed to the next town over, a daylong project which requires no more preparation than lacing on our shoes and collecting our pocket money.  Why were we going?  To see if we could make it, or perhaps to visit a store that had some treasure of youth--pop-its, or a different kind of candy, or an ice-cream shop selling carmel corn.

For the field, this day is an eternity.  There is no tomorrow, yesterday no longer exists.  There is only today, and now, and growing, and buzzing.  This moment is forever, and summer vacation never ends.  Yes, there will be a winter, but not now; that is for a different field, a different world.  Now is for lazy sunny days that stretch forever and lead to small surprises and excitements.

Independence day, indeed.