And now it’s summer. Like, a real summer, this time, because school was briefly in session but now it’s properly out, and the Covid vaccination cards are filled, with two doses, four times over, and then put away in a drawer. Out of sight, and almost out of mind.
The days are empty and full alike. Summer’s first week saw us hightail to northeastern Oregon for a bout of llama-trekking; four days out in the Wallowa wilderness with, yes, llamas, and yeah, that’s a thing, llama-trekking, and a good thing at that.
Then time on island, and time in Seattle; the almost interminable July sunshine lighting up the solar panels of one abode and baking the home office of the other.
Update: Aargh. I’m picking up pen on a paused post, now, it’s a month and some later — and suddenly ‘Delta’ is big in the news, and here on the brink of August, we just canceled our summer-finale flight to Heathrow. (Well, technically, Virgin Atlantic cancelled on us, first.)
So five short paragraphs, and we’ve backslid into a purgatorial new new new normal. Not so bleak as the ‘new normal’ of 2020, but not quite the wonderful-wide-open world that the start of summer promised.
The days are shorter already.
But. We’re all fine and good and healthy, which is worth remembering. And the assured promise of those long midsummer days always gets broken, year after year. Every July feels endless, until it doesn’t.