ESTIVAL JOY

Summer began yesterday, or maybe this morning, a good week ahead of the solstice.  There is sun and heavy dampness, which is a necessary component in the area we unimaginatively and, to some extent, inaccurately label the Midwest.  Summer weighs down on you.  The disappearance of any illusion of weightlessness signals the close of spring.

All morning, flocks of children ran wild in the green space behind the library which I habitually haunt.  They romped through the grass and bushes and splashed ruthlessly through the water.  Last year we took to calling it a river (and with staggering egotism, we called it “ours”) but in size and shape it more nearly resembles a stream or creek, though manmade, and bounded on both sides by decorative concrete.  We used to make it the destination of evening strolls and sat on the banks for long hours with feet in the water.  Caught in the throes of summer, anyone less than six might find it a veritable swimming-hole.

I was on my way back to the library after lunch (which was an exemplary sandwich) and stopped to sit on a bench and take in the sun, which at that time was only pleasantly warm, halfway to its full potential.  A mother was shepherding two small under-sixes down the sidewalk, and their progress was significantly slowed by frequent detours into the water.

“Come on, it’s time to go, we’ve been here almost two hours!”

They wanted to stay longer.  She permitted some dallying in the right direction.  Some splashing.

“Will you carry me?”  My point of comparison being my three-year-old, first-grade-sized niece, the littler one seemed too young to speak so articulately.  Her mother, preparatory to taking this damp bundle into her arms, produced a bright towel triple the size of the child.  As she was wrapped into it, the girl looked over at me and displayed a smile of pure ecstatic joy.  I was fleetingly jealous.  Wet, barefoot, neatly swaddled and bound for home – surely that was the proper attitude to be in at the moment, and in all respects I was found wanting.

The shadows of the leaves on the tree above this park bench flicker on the ground like the flame of a lingering candle, worried by the wind.  It is here – that thick and glorious summer.  It has come.