snowmelt
I said, “This hasn’t felt like summer.” but what I meant was, this hasn’t felt like any summer has ever felt before. Which I suppose is true of every season, but sometimes you notice it, and sometimes the newness just slips past you among the clutter of the same old stuff you’ve seen and done, a million times before. This was the summer of hard work that’s worth the effort. The summer of cottonwood pixies dancing in the June breeze, collecting inside my bike basket. This was the summer we talked for weeks about tubing Boulder Creek, but we only wadded in to our ankles, because there wasn’t time to play, and because snowmelt is cold, even in August. This summer we explored the Boulder public library, the Saturday farmer’s market, and our own backyard. We talked about camping, but settled for a picnic in the park. We tried to visit home, but instead asked home to visit us. It was too fast, and felt so slow.
Now it’s almost fall in Boulder again, a time and place where I have been before. The golden light glitters though the aspen branches and the busy streets hum with all the people who love this place and care for it, or take it for granted. This morning we went to the Hometown Fest and the farmer’s market, and tried one more dip in the icy creek. Goodbye to my first Boulder summer. You were one of a kind.
Great reading. Thanks for sharing.