Breathe deeply, the heavy air, laden with the perfume of thousands of lacey hedge blooms. Sweet undertones of blackberries and early plums float in slight currents through the high notes of pine and cedar. The heat emerges from the ground in steamy tendrils, spiraling its way up to steep the various floras of their heady fragrances. Summer has returned and there is little that has really changed with the natural world around us. I am drawn back to the last heated days of the Sun when they were upon me as a child in Mississippi.
Cicadas still chirp in their sing song way in the in heat of the day. Birds trash about in the grasses searching for prime specimens of wormy goodness. Old and young animals alike prepare for the travel through the dry months. Days when the air dances with the heat that grants the blacktop with the gift of mirages; and the roads seemed to reflect the black of night in the heat of the day, turning them into scrying mirrors in which I thought I could see my future.
I recall a great many hours, in the splendor of the Goddess and the God. I recall days spent in the forest with playmates, pretending to be any number of outlandish characters. The landscapes from our favorite literature adventures lay out before us at an old fallen oak tree, the place we gathered most frequently. Old and stately, the tree had once stood tall and majestic, its canopy spread wide over the smaller trees on the forest floor. But the warriors of time and the elements of wind and rain had conquered the Great Oak, bringing the leafy canopy crashing to the ground. As the fall had brought the canopy down, the tree’s massive roots came up creating a cave like opening in the Earth. With the trees roots, trunk and canopy within our reach we; flew to other worlds on a rocket ship; followed tigers through thick jungles; and defended Helm’s Deep from Orcs.
Other days were spent in learning, and imagination while in solitary exploration, my only companions the dragonflies, one of my spirit animals; or perhaps my dogs. So often I found myself drawn to the water; and I was willing to be lured by the rumbling and rippling of the forests water veins. The water flows, full and overflowing numerous times in the spring, began their slowing time; for in the dragging and sultry Mississippi heat, even the big waters seem to slow. Their colors, like milky whiskeys, glisten with the reflection of the sky. Cool, smooth surfaces rolling over log and sandbar, appeared to ease along without heed for anything about them.
Leaves, both green and fiery, floated like so many fairy boats upon the liquid highways, their destinations unknown. I would lie on the banks and watch them pass, pretending that the fairy king and queen were traveling with their court, surveying their domain. Smaller streams flow quickly as silvery bubbles danced upon twigs caught in the undercurrent. As I got down on my knees to look closer; I imaged the bubbles were crystal balls tossed overboard by the fairies to bless the waters with the blessings of the Goddess and God.
Beyond the forest edge was a field both broad and grassy, it was the perfect place to stretch out and watch the clouds overhead lumber by. The things I saw in those drifting canvases of white and grey; Elven ships with strong graceful sails, swirls and spirals, and animals of all kinds. Tall, delicate grasses swayed in the breeze, brushing my skin and making me giggle. Butterflies flitted all about me gliding on the breeze. They always reminded me of flower petals caught on the wind. Occasionally, the shadow of a bird would be cast upon the grasses, causing the butterflies to scatter for hiding places. Even the insects in the swaying mass would keep one eye turned to the sky. The other eye would often be turned in my direction as its owner peered at me with suspicion in an attempt to ascertain if I was a bug eater or not.
The late evening wanderers, small buzzing things that flit on the breezeless night, filled the skies with body and sound. Midges flocked to the water of the nearby pond, knowing that death watched them patiently below the surface of the moving water. Yet, they came, drawn by an insatiable need, to lap at the water, to quench their thirst. The pond was the realm of the thrumming Great- Grandfather Toad, The Elder, who sang to all in his domain. I always tried to crawl quietly towards that wily old toad in hopes of catching him. But he was far too wise for my childish antics. He would wait for me to get almost within reach and then leap, away chuckling at my failed attempt to catch him.
Despite the hunger of carnivorous insects, I’d stay out of doors playing late into the evening under the yellow glow of the yard light. Shining from atop its pole, it held at bay the nighttime hours within the cast of its light. As long as I was in the light, I could play ball, fetch with the dogs, and jump rope. But just beyond the light, in the place where the light and night met, other adventures awaited. There in that place where a ballet of fireflies lit the twilight with tiny white and green flashes to the sound of the nighttime chorus. They were like stardust come to Earth to sparkle the landscape with magic.
The heat of the days, meeting the cooling of the nights, sometimes created moisture in the air so thick, it felt as though you were moving through spiders silk. But many nights were dry and clear, filled with the glimmer of the moon and sprinkling of stars. If the sultry summer days were incredible, the slow summer nights were magical. Those nights always beckoned to me after days heated with the glow of the God’s sun and its dazzling blue frame.
An old canvas tent was my special place and I slept there many nights with my two dogs. The tent was covered in wild vines of Wisteria and Jasmine and it became my fairy bower most nights. We would lay there, the dogs and me, watching the moon sail through the star strooned sky. The crickets and Grand-Father Toad’s relations, rubbed and croaked out the summer night themes that lull me to my rest and I dreamed of all that was possible with the intensity of innocence and youth.
When I was a child, I dreamed of becoming an adult, all grown up and being who I wished. Now I am grown and I miss the times when my biggest worry was whether my turkey sandwich would survive another siege by Orcs.
I get back to those times as often as I can by reliving my childhood adventures with my own children. When I play with them or spin a good tale, once again I am that barefoot girl, who on summer evenings chased the fire flies deep into the wood. I return to the girl who crawled amongst the grass to sing with the Great-Grandfather Toad at the pond.
Again, I touch the child lying dormant within me who lay in the field and watched the butterflies. My hands become the hands that clasp the bat and played ball till late in the evening beneath the yard light. I am again squealing with glee as I am the barefoot tom-boy who grasped hold of the rope, swung out over the creek and fell laughing with a great splash. With my children, I can still be the girl I was 40 years ago and it is alright.
Stop and enjoy the summer, the days of the God’s sun. Let the heat melt away the impurities of adulthood. Rejoice with the children inside us all for summer is returned! If you cannot find your inner child, they are not lost to you. Simply ask a child you know and love to help you find yourself. I’m sure they will be up to the task. Or stay out late and be set aglow by the Goddess's moon, silvery blue and filled with magick.
Once again you can, find that barefoot child who on the summer evening, chased the firefly. Find the one who, in aluminum foil and pie plate armor, defended the king’s castle from the terror of Isenguard. Play fetch with the hounds of the moors and clasp by the hand that young man who played stickball till late in the evening ‘neath the streetlamps. And as you frolic in your youthful play, find joy in the heat of the summer days. Remember the smell of rain storms and crushed grass; of passion and sweat and the forest floor. Do this and age can't touch you! One day the youth will be gone, but the summer... it will always be there, if you remember. For it is in our hearts that the youthful Summertime Child lives; and there it remains, forever… waiting for you in your elder years.
And as you return to your adult self, remember to find the young flow of passion inside yourself and feel the night air on your bare skin. Tumble with your lover in the tall grass and watch the Goddess's stars reflect in one another’s eyes. Take a deep breath and pull your lovers smell into your memory, to tide you in those lonely moments. Don't be afraid to look at each other one day, wrinkled and grey, and remember the sensations of the magic and energy of the youthful Summertime Child in all of us.
This is in memory of my grandparents. Gone now, but are still rolling in the grass not careing if anybody is looking.
Tha gaol again ort...I love you!