Not quite summer

Today’s one of those lazy summer days, even though it’s not a summer day. Even though summer doesn’t officially happen for a few months. But it’s hot so I spray the kid with sunscreen, and we go swimming. The pool is still too cold, but just barely, so we go in anyway, and it feels good on the boiling hot day once we got used to the temperature. Looking at the pool from the top, I notice the shimmering colors of the surface of the water making strange geometric shapes and holographic images reflecting the blue of the sun and the green landscaping and the orange blossoms of the butterfly bush.

I wash off the chlorine and go for a walk in the sunshine to the mailbox, past the orange trees on one side that still have sweet-scented white blossoms and avocado trees on the other side with their long, dark leaves. Past the bushy, lacy elderberry that’s now in flower and will soon be in fruit. Down to the rusty mailbox at the end of the street and then coming back again, eyes closed, feeling the sun on my face and looking forward to opening the Amazon package with a new movie inside.

Food today is bakery croissants from the place in town that grows their own flour and mills it themselves. Strong hot coffee with a touch of cinnamon. For lunch, my child made fresh lemonade from lemons in our orchard and mint from the front porch, and it’s divine—tart and sweet and as fresh as it gets, with loads of ice.

Later, in a shaded room, I flip through books on character traits and think about words to use in my own books. I think about how to make my characters deeper and more developed, but to still have the point I want them to have. I think about playing and how I want writing to be playing. How I want to follow what I feel. And I think about what to write for a blog post.

Maybe this evening we’ll watch movies and read new books and pretend it’s summer already.

Because summer’s just a state of mind anyway, isn’t it? One with lazy calm days and no pressures except to let yourself have a little break.