something about summer.

March 24, 2008

A friend told me once that he knew the only way that I survived winter was dreaming about the summer.  He knows me pretty well.  I live for summertime, the smell of chlorine and the tightness of my skin after a day in the sun.  I love runs on summer mornings and the way sweat comes so much more easily then and the way that tomato sandwiches taste in the heart of July.  I love driving up to my parents’ place and seeing Mom’s flowers in bloom and seeing Dad beneath his mowing hat.  And I love the way that I measure the length left in the season based on the height of Mamaw’s corn.  Boy, does she have a pretty garden.  Yeah, I love summer in Mississippi.

There isn’t a definitive summer here in Colombia, but I made my own summer this week.  I packed a few necessities in a small backpack and went to Sangueda.  It’s down the mountain a bit and warm and the promise of sunshine was one I couldn’t pass up.   I layed in thick green grass and bathed in the sunshine.  I ate fresh fruit from street vendors brought in from fincas just up the road.  I read two books (Cold Tangerines and Into the Wild). I glided through cool water chlorinated to perfection and counted out the easy rhythms of stroke, stroke, stroke, breathe.  My summer ended in four short days, but the sting of sun is still on my shoulders and the smell of chlorine still lingering in my hair.  It was no Mississippi summer, mind you, but maybe, just maybe it was enough to tide me over for a bit.

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