summer love

May 27, 2019

Every year, there comes a day that denotes the start of summer. For me, it’s not just that it’s warm or that I’m barefooted and that the lilacs are in bloom. It’s more than that. It’s a feeling. A feeling of fullness. Gratitude. Delight. One year, it fell on the Victoria Day long weekend, at a barbecue hosted by our friends Tamara and Kieran. I remember all of us gathered on their street well after dark, full of good food and laughter, watching the children as they whizzed up and down the pavement on bikes. We’d survived another winter, and this was our reward. Last year, it came late in May, in my mother-in-law’s garden as we celebrated the birthday of our niece. The children all fell into the grass, paper party hands on their heads, and as I snapped the photo of their goofy, sugary faces, I knew this was the day. Another year, my friend Hannah and I seized the sun and headed to the beach with four of our six children in tow. There was nothing remarkable about the day –– the children were more interested in the playground than the beach, and our east side meal couldn’t have been lousier –– but there was a feeling in the air that we all grabbed hold of. And that’s how yesterday felt, as my family walked home from dinner through Ramsden Park in the setting sunlight, all of us aware of, and grateful for the loveliness of the evening. “This is such a fun night,” my son said after a roly poly down a hill. You can’t plan for these days, or create them. They just happen. And it’s magic.

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