The fifth of July in Saluda, NC saw the 51st annual Coon Dog Day parade march through downtown, a terrible traffic problem and twenty or so of us sunning like lizards on the banks of a tiny pond on my dad’s cousin’s property.
Summer with young children means dropping agendas, following butterflies, locking eyes with hummingbirds and tending yellow jacket stings. All too often, summer for adults means a truncated jaunt from air-conditioned house to air-conditioned car to air-conditioned office. rinse. repeat.
- watermelon juice dripping lazily off the chin of a toddler
(where have all the seeds gone? what was so wrong with spitting them into the bushes while dangling young feet into some body of water)
- the surface of the lake shining like diamonds under the watchful gaze of the golden sun
- jumping off the end of the dock through the hula hoop like a trained dolphin
- little tucker making an impossible leap through the air and rising triumphant from the murkish water both hands raised in peace signs
- tossing the handmade hula hoops back and forth between the cousins in the front yard imagining some improbable circus troupe as the fireflies make their nightly debut
- the endless cycle of wet towels drying on the rails of the front porch
- packing snacks for the day’s outing
- nowhere to be
- nothing to do
- dedicating myself to here, to right now with everything I have in me, I notice.