Sometimes there can be no adequate picture. But an image or two is what I have conditioned you for, so I offer a few. This is what you come home to after a journey. And in this case it was a pleasing one.
The impromptu summer parties can seem endless, as they should. My people know they can make a call and come right over. I am only too glad when young folks want to fit us in.
The party laces were snatched and stowed before the passing storm. (And then there was a weekend of camping in the woods.) The curtains have a kind of jumbled romance here, as in a photo of an unmade bed. You know the ones I mean.
And after it's all over one is left with the many echoes. Sometimes loud in absence.
And only ordinary things remain. You know what I mean?
The first thing I did was to stop into my usual fleamarket. Remember these? I saw them advertised (was it as much as five years ago?) and never found them. Simple bottled water with the lacy details that have me already planning the next soiree!
And something even sweeter. . . vintage pillow slips with lovely trim. I don't do much with red. I almost passed these up. But just look! Nothing could whisper "cottage" more than these. They won't take much more wear, so maybe I will just display them for awhile and remember this lovely summer when they first appeared.
As I gathered up inside the market I began to catch the lovely scent of rain. The one you often get here in the desert when moisture first hits the dusty ground. A delicious smell, full of promise and longing. The aroma of so many summers that have passed and that have come back to visit you again. It is the thing that I spoke of at the beginning. What I want to share with you for which I have no photo. . . . The perfume of a summer that is with us once again. There is no picture. But I know that you know just what I mean . . . .
I hope the loveliest season is ahead for you.
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