Just an hour ago, I was heading out for a jog. I was tired and headachy at first. Full of complaints by 10th avenue only. Sure tonight wasn't a good night to try to get back into some kind of exercise routine again after over a month of doing nothing more strenuous than drinking mudslides.
When I got out by the river, out to the field where I met the Australian Twins (who, it turns out, never collected their matchboxes) I saw families lingering over picnics in the translucent light. People in kayaks. Sailboats circling around. Entire crew teams whizzing along. Little kids who are usually home in bed by now, running barefoot through the trees, pulling fizzy lemonades out of coolers. This lovely hum of an August evening stretched to its fullest potential.
It was the first time I'd been back near water, any kind of real water--deep and mysterious and connected--since we stepped on land in Seattle.
The fatigue and headache lifted. I still had the night ahead of me to work. To shower and write in the Five-Year-Journal my friend Kara gave me. To talk with my sister.
And then, an hour later, coming into the apartment, the reminder from Alex about what I forgot to pick up the store. That magic in-between of twilight absolutely gone. Back out into the elevator. Full night now, outside. When returned once again, the sound of Petra crying. The dirty dishes. The need to make arrangements for tomorrow. The work that had seemed fun and light and easy now seeming a much heavier task.
I should get to that work, and stop worrying about the difference between that promising hour, just an hour ago, and now.
When I got out by the river, out to the field where I met the Australian Twins (who, it turns out, never collected their matchboxes) I saw families lingering over picnics in the translucent light. People in kayaks. Sailboats circling around. Entire crew teams whizzing along. Little kids who are usually home in bed by now, running barefoot through the trees, pulling fizzy lemonades out of coolers. This lovely hum of an August evening stretched to its fullest potential.
It was the first time I'd been back near water, any kind of real water--deep and mysterious and connected--since we stepped on land in Seattle.
The fatigue and headache lifted. I still had the night ahead of me to work. To shower and write in the Five-Year-Journal my friend Kara gave me. To talk with my sister.
And then, an hour later, coming into the apartment, the reminder from Alex about what I forgot to pick up the store. That magic in-between of twilight absolutely gone. Back out into the elevator. Full night now, outside. When returned once again, the sound of Petra crying. The dirty dishes. The need to make arrangements for tomorrow. The work that had seemed fun and light and easy now seeming a much heavier task.
I should get to that work, and stop worrying about the difference between that promising hour, just an hour ago, and now.
Or perhaps embrace the ebb and flow of times...
ReplyDeleteTrue...that's a nice way to look at it.
ReplyDeleteI feel like I lose that promising hour (for me, it's the first hour after waking) almost every day. It's hard to recover that particular energy once the domestic, or life in general, steals it from you. But cheers to that jog and the beautiful description of summer. "This lovely hum of an August evening stretched to its fullest potential."
ReplyDeleteThis post embodies how I feel about August...the beauty and the water and the light that is so magical, but the pressure of reality- back-to-school, cold weather, real schedules...is always pushing on me once this month rolls in, and I feel like I can't really enjoy what is left. You capture this so beautifully. xo
ReplyDeleteThanks Sarah and Amie for your comments...and sorry for my delay. Sarah, are you able to wake up before Isabelle (obviously this is a current obsession for me). Do you resist the impulse to check email/news etc.? Amie - I too know that back-to-school pressure...all the store displays certainly don't help. I remember a beautiful piece of yours about that last day of summer...gives me chills remembering it!
ReplyDelete