Summer Light

I've been thinking of places in latitudes above mine. Seattle, Minneapolis, Montreal, Oslo. I love the light that hangs on 'til late in the evening (in the summer, anyway.) People revel in those hours of light. Summer is such a celebratory time, given that in the winter, it can be so dark and cold. Nature gives us some sort of payback for the patience required and given to make it through those tedious months.

So, I'm thinking about summer, and wish of course that I had some more light with Peter - a little extra bonus time; that special evening time where the light lingers and one can play. I feel like the next thing after a grueling winter should be summer.

I remember as a child, the lingering summer light and other children's voices in the streets called us to play, but we were to be in bed "at a decent hour". It didn't seem fair. Mom used to read poetry to me and my brothers before bed, and often poetry by Robert Louis Stevenson. This is one about those nights:

Bed in Summer

In winter I get up at night

And dress by yellow candle-light.

In summer quite the other way,

I have to go to bed by day.

I have to go to bed and see

The birds still hopping on the tree,

Or hear the grown-up people's feet

Still going past me in the street.

And does it not seem hard to you,

When all the sky is clear and blue,

And I should like so much to play,

To have to go to bed by day?

I think my themes are I feel the change of seasons coming; I am mad that Peter's not here - I feel like I've gone through the hard winter and it's still winter in my heart, but summer is tugging - maybe a little more light, and I do want to play....

Someone, bring in the garbage please

So, I've been busy; busy and having a good time visiting with people here and away. A thought I had was that I feel like I am coming out of a long, dark tunnel. I feel a bit bewildered, blinking back the light. I still feel a bit disconnected to things that I felt connected to before. (Like my brain. Where did that go?) I'm making some effort to swim along with the rest of humanity, and hoping that it's not completely obvious that I'm pretty bad at this. Yet, I can laugh, and I can connect with people. I just feel, well, different. Not sure of my place, identity, or anything else. Yet, I do know I'm loved. And that's a good thing. Loved even though I'm feeling pretty lousy about reaching out.

So, time keeps going by and here it is April already. I noticed that when I wasn't writing, Peter kept popping up in my dreams. I would awaken, sometimes disturbed, and not be able to go back to sleep. I wondered if my writing was helping me process (duh), and without it, I was processing all right, but it was put off until the night hours when I didn't have a conscious choice about it.

I try not to fall into self-pitying (pitiful!) thoughts, but this afternoon I slipped as I was driving home. I was thinking about the little chore that faced me of walking the garbage, recycling and compost bins up the driveway to the backyard after the pick-up this morning. (The driveway is hardly longer than the length of the car. This is pitiful.) That was Peter's job, and I was mad that I didn't have him to share responsibilities with; large or small. I noticed my foible, and as I was battling that thought back, I drove up to see that some kind person had done the deed while I was at work. I laughed, and was humbled.

Peter, I miss you like crazy. When this is all over, I wonder what I'll think. Wonder that it wasn't such a long time after all between seeing you last February and seeing you again. That darn time/space deal. It sure can be hard from this side. I'll try to be patient.