A summer of nothing sounded exactly right to me.
~from My Jasper June by Laurel Snyder
Sunday felt like one of those days when I’m able to leave home for a week or part of a week and within a few hours of untethering myself from my beloveds, my brain opens up in a way I always forget is possible.
Ella and Bryn sat side-by-side in the brilliant noon sun, every bit of the yard gilded by the light. There was no wind today and so the sun felt just on the cusp of too warm and the flush and shine of it on skin and hair seemed decadent. ~from Say Say Say by Lila Savage
A week ago, we returned from a vacation in Italy. On Sunday, L says, “I think it’s time we buried the dead things in the freezer.”
The sameness of each day, each year, acted like the endless reopening of a cut, scarring those summers into her memory.
~from Disappearing Earth by Julia Phillips
I know. I’m not supposed to love this view.
So much joy, I swear, is lost in our desperation to keep it.
My poor porch. It is a victim of a frazzled and distracted life.
In the darkening June evening I draw a blossom near, and bending close search it as a woman searches a loved one’s face. from "Peonies at Dusk" by Jane Kenyon, who lived on Eagle Pond
Things I failed to do this week—so far.