“Even so, there were times I saw freshness and beauty. I could smell the air, and I really loved rock ‘n’ roll. Tears were warm, and girls were beautiful, like dreams. I liked movie theaters, the darkness and intimacy, and I liked the deep, sad summer nights.” – Haruki Murakami

I’m a bitch when it’s hot, because I’m a bitch when it’s not. That said, this summer the heat hasn’t gotten to me as badly as it has in years past, which is strange because we’ve been much hotter than recent summers have been. Chalk it up to the proximity of a pool and air conditioning, and the fact that I’ve largely avoided walking at midday when at the office or visiting Boston or New York in such a heat index. To that end, it’s been a rather enjoyable season thus far, and my lack of complaining is either growth or evolution or the lackadaisical summation of simply learning not to care (or realizing that there is no point to my caring). There’s something that approaches melancholy in all of that, in summer itself, as gleaned from the opening quote. It’s as if the sun, with its relentless cheeriness and charm, illuminates fully all that is otherwise lacking, all that is otherwise wrong, amid the perfect idyllic days: the conundrum of summer, which nobody dares to criticize lest we frighten it away. 

Rather than indulge in the melancholy, or fight it outright, I’m finding a quiet sort of middle ground, one where I lean into the feelings while staying afloat and distracting myself with the fun. It mostly seems to be working. From the pool, I watch a red squirrel scurry across the top of the wooden fence, its clicks and clacks a warning or a mating cry or some other exclamation I cannot translate. A hummingbird hovers beside a pot of salvia, its tongue moving deeply into the tubular blooms that few others can so easily reach. Life reveals itself in multitudes when you stop and sit still long enough to receive it. 
When the sun goes down, and the light reluctantly drains from the sky, the summer night begins…

“The summer night is like a perfection of thought.” – Wallace Stevens

When a summer day is full, sleep comes quickly and easily.

If it fills your mind with the present moment – the sun, the heat, the flowers, the books, the pool, the garden, the grilled dinner, the first cherry tomatoes just starting to ripen and the thrill of popping one into your mouth directly off the vine – then the day has proven worthwhile.

I’ve had the luck and luxury of having some pretty full days of late – not with any grand adventures or big events, but the simple summer living that the season affords. It’s the best way of dealing with overthinking and overanalyzing – which Virgos such as myself are prone to do to our great detriment. Finding solace in being mindful and present instead of living in my head has proven a boon to my mental health. Summer makes that easier.

After working out and meditating and just making it through a recent day, I slipped into the pool, not bothering with a swimsuit, just pulling off my shorts and wading in with this old pair of underwear that wouldn’t mind getting a bit bleached. Swimming from the shallow end to the deep, I breathe in the scents of evening.

The spicy sweetness of phlox hangs in the air near the deep end. Nearby, the smell of damp earth fresh from being watered reminds me of some almost-fetid greenhouse dripping with its own condensation – plants sometimes have a way of sweating too, transpiration to our perspiration.

Even this late in the day, the sky is a sickly hazy yellowish gray color – still lit from the sun’s rays slicing through the smoke in the air from the Canadian fires – seemingly an annual summer event in a world that burns itself out a bit more with each passing day. I dive underwater to get away from it all, because I cannot afford to think about this world like that too much – humans being so problematic, and so disappointing.

I did what we’re never supposed to do: I looked right up at the sun because it was obscured by the hazy smoke drifting down from the Canadian wildfires. It looked eerily like the moon when clouds pass mysteriously in front of it, only this was the mighty sun, probably damaging my retinas in my foolish act of defiance.

It’s been a week of recklessness, as Mercury continues in its messy retrograde motion and a new moon prowls the sky invisibly. Astrologically, this is said to be a shit show, especially for a Virgo, and I’m definitely in the difficult feels about practically everything. (Forewarned is fair warned: stop fucking with me.)

Things are also said to bring great relief when this retrograde ends around July 23rd. That’s always been a good date for me, so I’ll be laying low and doing my best to keep quiet until then. (This would not be a good time to bet on that happening however, so apologies in advance for all that I’m about to say or do. Again, stop fucking with me.)

Sunny Mondays in summer hit differently. Their intrinsically depressing nature is blunted by the power of the season, a reminder that nature is what will always matter in the end. Mondays are a human construct. Summer is invincible. Here is our weekly blog recap…

Woodstock kicked the last week off in whimsical fashion.

Weather whiplash is a requisite part of summer these days.

Maple and bamboo light in the attic at night.

Triggering summer scents carried by the breeze.

Rainy abstract, taking out the night.

A summer holiday with the twins marks the passing of precious time.

Scarlet bee draw brings all the bees to the yard.

New spectacles, old jockstrap.

A feast for the hummingbirds in a brilliantly-colored salvia.

Embodying golden splendor in mesh netting.

Solid gold summer realizations come when they want to come.

Out pooling for the day: Do Not Disturb.

A golden summer night makes the journey home.

Soleil summer hallucinations backed by a driving beat and a hazy heat.

Golden 80’s glory days for those of us getting old.

Dazzlers of the Day included Mark Harkenrider, Meg Stalter, Evan Mulrooney, and Erling Haaland.