Inside: When my heart starts rushing forward, I pull it back tenderly and remind it that today is still summer. Tomorrow will care for itself.
“August has passed, and yet summer continues by force to grow days. They Sprout secretly between the chapters of the year, covertly included between its pages.” Jonathan Safran Foer
What does summer mean to you and could we, or should we, as Thoreau suggested, “maintain a little bit of summer, even in the middle of winter?”
Or is it instead true that embracing each season equally is the better course? For “what good is the warmth of summer, without the cold of winter to give it sweetness.” John Steinbeck
Is our fear about the changing of the seasons rooted in the belief that the future cannot possibly compete with today or yesterday? Is it that we grieve we were not awake enough through the gifts of the past season and now they are forever lost? Do we forget that if we look carefully we have always found gifts in every season, each step of the way?
Summer strawberries and sand give way to cheerful gourds and hand-knit scarves. Youth makes way for wisdom and understanding and your babies grow up into men.
A seed must die to bring forth life.
It is as it should be.
I will feast on the tomatoes and berries and walk in the dregs of summer warmth. I will release my children out into the world and listen for what it is I need to learn today. And when my heart starts looking backward or rushing forward, I pull it back, tenderly and remind it that today it is still summer.
And tomorrow will care for itself.
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