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The end of spring

Last night I officially changed seasons with the ritual folding of the blankets (the ones on my bed that got me through the winter), which I stored in a gigantic air-tight plastic container. All the fans are on now – one in the bedroom, one in the dead office, a small one in the bathroom, and three in the living room/kitchen. The noise is a bit much right now, but I’ll get used to it – by the end of the summer (which now falls in mid-October), when I start to turn them off, it will seem strange to be in silent rooms again.

Another summer ritual – wearing sandals to work instead of my Timberland boots. I don’t understand why my feet don’t seem to “remember” wearing the sandals, why I have to break them in when I did the exact same thing the summer before. But there’s nothing to be done about it, evidently, and so the backs of my heels are covered in little blisters and cuts. I’m a big baby when it comes to my feet, though, so my Neosporin and boxes of bandages are getting good use. Maybe it’s just my body reacting to summer in general – a very small rebellion against the start of the heat and humidity and the sun I always have to scurry under like an insect, slathered in SPF 100 from head to toe. Needless to say, when I retire, it will not be to Florida.

Since I have Monday off, I’m spending the holiday weekend working on the novel and doing a last bit of baking – early morning only, since by noon it’s too hot to use the oven. (And then that’ll be it for baking and cooking until October.)

I’ll post my writing progress and some general summer goals on Tuesday. And now it’s time for a very, very cold beer.

.

Originally published at Livia Llewellyn.

Marine Autumn

I owe you marine autumn
With dankness at its roots
and fog like a grape
and the graceful sun of the country;
and the silent space
in which sorrows lose themselves
and only the bright crown
of joy comes to the surface.

--Pablo Neruda.


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