Ahh, mid July and the promise of summer is here in full force. This is what we dream about all winter, wish fervently for on those cold dark days of the year when the world is all black and white and the sun is a filtered ray of paltry light. This is what we want to see, when in January we look through the frosted window. We want to see green grass, leaves on trees, flowers a-bloom in thought out plots of colour. We want to look out at the garden to see what we are going to eat that evening. We want the smell of fresh cut grass, more than anything we want that first whiff of mown lawn in the spring.
Is there anything better than using the garden hose to wash the dirt off a freshly pulled root vegetable and then using your pocket knife to cut the end off and take a bite. Or picking a young pea pod (as I just have) from the vine and tossing a few incredibly sweet peas into your mouth.
Ahh summer. It's sitting in the shade of a sun umbrella with a languishing cat by your feet, a bit of a breeze, a cool beer and the chirping of birds as they flit back and forth to the pile of seeds you put out. It's the sounds of children down the street screaming with delight as they run through the sprinkler. It's the sight of your neighbour as he polishes his car in the shade of a tree. It's the greeting of "gudday" or "evenin'" that you say with a nod of the head as you acknowledge the passing stranger as you sit on the front porch. This being a small town that stranger is more than likely to pause and comment on the evening weather or the state of your flower bed or how pretty the cat is - again the cat rests by your feet.
As the day cools and the supper dishes are put away the front porch is the place to be on our quiet street of early twentieth century houses. When we moved here we commented that our street and a couple of the surrounding ones looked like something out of a Frank Capra movie set. We'd walk the darkening streets as the day ended and front room lights came on and if all the modern cars suddenly turned into 1920's models and Jimmy Stewart had come out of a door and tipped his boater to us we would not have been surprised. We live, in a small way, in a 1920's or '30's urban landscape.
Summer is the time of year when you can't stay awake during the day and can't get to sleep at night, all because of the heat. It's wakening out of a mid afternoon slumber to find the ice in your drink has melted, the unread book is resting on your chest and the plans to, to do something, has gone from your memory and anyway it's now too late to begin to do whatever it was you were going to do.
Summer nights are ceiling fans, a light sheet only as a cover and pillows flipped and flipped again to get that cool spot. Its open windows and a gentle stirring of the lace curtains. It's the sounds of young people walking home, shy laughter and steps in unison. As the late night news ends the last of the sounds is our neighbour letting the dogs out for one last "go" and him whispering loud enough for the whole block to hear, "bad dog, git home here, come here, c'm here" and at last the quiet descends. Sleep creeps up upon you and another day is over. Ah summer!