As child, I measured summertime freedom by the length of the days, the colorful flowers, the humidity in the air. And life was good. By the time Independence Day rolled around, I’d be giddy at the thought of running around the yard with sparklers. The spectacular light shows of fireworks were oohed and aahed over long after I was tucked into bed. The occasional bangs of cherry bombs and firecrackers in the neighborhood kept me awake and interrupted the soothing chorus of frogs, cicadas and crickets. It was great to be a kid, and even greater to see my own children experience it. Full circle, and all that.
I haven’t set a novel in the summer months. Yet. I know I will some day. I hope to be able to capture the fabric of the season and do it justice. It will most likely be written in the dead of winter, making me long for sunlight until 9:30 at night, and birdsong in the back yard. And in the dark, dreary days of February, just writing about the heat of the sun will be warmth to sustain me.
Happy Fourth of July everyone. If you know a soldier, please pass on my thanks for their service and for our independence.