On this, the first day of summer, I thought it would be fit to fetch the snow shovel from its place beside the front door and take it to the shed out back.
“I guess we won’t be needing this for a while,” I said to Mary, before recalling that given the winter that wasn’t, we hadn’t needed it at all.
The summer solstice in the Northern Hemisphere was also, I thought, a good day for taking my first shower out of doors. Perhaps even two — the golden light we love so will persist until almost 8:30 tonight.
I have written many an ode to my outdoor shower. I can think of few things more pleasant than looking up from the rhododendron leaves that overhang it to the arching canopy of our trees near the end of a summer’s day — usually through a shimmering glass of white wine next to the soap dish.
Interesting that I had thought we might be nearing a solstice today, for, frankly, I’ve pretty much lost all track of time lately. Mary too. She said on Wednesday that she thought it was Saturday. I’m no better, worse even. I told an interviewee yesterday — Friday, I believe — that I didn’t even know what month it was. May, June, whatever.
Disengaged to some extent from what had long become accustomed routine — which presumably accounts for our inability to get a grip — we remain engaged with each other though.
She smiled when I read her a quote last night from Milton’s Eve: “With thee conversing I forget all time.”
I failed to say that it was from “Paradise Lost,” having just written about the paradise we’ve found right here in our backyard, but it will do nicely. With thee conversing I forget all time.
It is interesting that this fraught period, one that has largely kept us at a couple of arms’ lengths from others, has further combined our souls.