The hallways are bare, classrooms are tidy, dark and quiet, and there are just a few meetings left on the schedule.
Summer is almost here.
The number of sticky note reminders scattered on my desk at school is shrinking. I can see wood.
It is beginning to look like a summer desk.
The air is heavy and humid, and clouds loom in the west, when a group of us meet at the picnic table over lunch for our final Tuning Protocol meeting.
Summer is coming.
My stack of books, on the bedside table and in my Amazon cart, is growing.
Summer is about to begin.
I’ve begun a project list, a wish list, a must get done at home list.
Summer is the time for these.
I’m dreaming of early morning walks and time every day for writing before the day gets hot and busy.
Summer mornings begin in two days.
I’ve planted flowers and squash and cucumbers and tomatoes.
My garden knows summer is ready to start.
I’m looking forward to time and space, lazy, late dinners, trips to the beach and pool, visits with relatives, cooking, knitting, walking with friends.
Summer is time.
That moment before it begins, officially, is full of excitement, dreams, goals, and wishes.
I think I love summer because I love the other ten months of the year even more.