I wish I could bottle up this perfect summer day. Don’t they always seem to come after the storms (like the one we had just before sunrise)? The broad, green maple leaves flutter above me as a mild breeze blows through the yard. The scent of the air is reminiscent of summers past, full of nostalgia- faintly mournful, yet comforting- a memory I cannot put my finger on.
Then, the joy of childhood and the wonder of new-found independence, as my boy pedals down the sidewalk, out of sight, alone for the first time. “One more time?” he asks eagerly upon each return, and I let him go, again and again, racing away faster each time, returning with brighter eyes, wider smile.
As I wait for him, my eyes linger on the rain-kissed petals of the impatiens- a funny name for the most patient of flowers. Needing neither constant sun nor rain, they thrive in the shadows, drawing their strength from the soil, seemingly unconcerned about the infrequent waterings I provide.
I cannot part with summer so soon again, or for so long. All the earth, teeming with life and color and beauty and wonder, held still and silent under winter’s icy, white thumb. No, I cannot bear the thought of it. So, I will grasp hold of today, thankful for its perfection, looking neither behind nor ahead, resting in the glory of summer that is His alone to bestow.