"The afternoon was a lazy afternoon, not hot-lazy when you don't want to move, but leisurely-lazy, when you did only what you wanted and took your time about it." -Hal Borland, Book Of Days
When August rolls around, the sun bakes the dirt path and the air vibrates with the metallic sound of crickets, and we seek shade and cold water to wade in. I start getting that feeling, that longing for fall, mixed with anticipation, which is one of the reasons I love this month. The trees seem weighed down with heat, and send the first little bright speckled leaves down to the ground. They float on the glistening surface of the river, and cluster between water-smoothed rocks along the way. These hot days of insect song and loud engines and bare feet, tired bees and worn moth wings, the stubbly harvested hay fields and children with ice cream dripping down their fists, are so enchanting that I sometimes feel sentimental about them before they end.
The changing of seasons always gives me butterflies in my stomach. I am reminded of the passing of time, of my mortality, and am overcome with the longing to experience all the beautiful things there are to see and do in the world. I get a strange nervous feeling, the feeling that I am not doing enough, not living enough. I promise myself I will get out more with my camera. And that I will capture as much of the season as I can.
Rafael fell ill yesterday and we're trapped inside on one of the hottest days of the year. All the windows are closed to keep the heat out. I do long for the shady woods; at this time of year I am on the look-out for the first mushrooms and asters. But right now my little boy needs me, and we will get through these days, and I will have the chance to get out with my camera soon enough.