Labor Day weekend ... time doesn't fly anymore it travels at the speed of light. As you plan a book tour, the months roll by so quickly that life becomes a blur. Here it is the holiday that typically puts an end to most people's summer, and I've not spent any time in my garden or yard or hiked or swam or basked in the sun. None of the carefree summertime activities I used to fill my summer with.
I long for endless days of lounging on a front porch swing with a glass of raspberry ice tea and a good book. Often, I find myself daydreaming about retirement, of quiet nights with doors and windows wide open just to enjoy the fresh air and the concert of frogs and crickets. No TV in the background of my existence. Only candlelight, quiet music, maybe a cup of rich coffee would round out my day. That and a brilliant summer sunset across the tops of the mountains---we should all be so lucky.
The end of summer signals to me that I've turned another year older and yet ... have so much more to do. I worry that my children will wake up one day and find that time has flown by even faster for them and they've yet not experienced their potentials.
As I race off this week, to yet another booksellers trade show to sign my book, I'm happy with these middle years of my life - I've learned to be content in my circumstances. I've learned many things, like keeping my mouth shut and my ears open.
But as I reflect on my youth -- gone, stolen, obliterated by a situation within and beyond my control, I wonder if I'll ever find the quiet years I've yearned for, dreamed about, written about. Every once in a while, I get a day where it's just me and Michael and nobody else, suspended in time on a "day off." I live for those days.
The end of summer is also the beginning of my favorite season -- autumn. Maybe that's where I'm headed ... to the autumn of my life ... but in the meantime, I think I'll go outside and have a Popsicle on the back porch, enjoy this end of summer before the week gets crazy with too much to do.
Blessings to you and yours.
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