A rambling clambering for summer to break

There's a smell in the early morning, you know. When you crouch down, just after dawn, when you lean into the grass and wait for the rest of the world to catch on that it's daytime, there's a smell in the dew of the grass that is getting your feet wet. All of your feet too, the bottom, the top, the little parts that are tucked away between your toes, the little spots you thought you hid so well. Surprise, the morning is hard to hide from.

Summer mornings. When you're up way before you have to be because the sun is lonely. When everything still feels free even though responsibilities are solidifying as the dew evaporates, but right now don't worry about it. Right now just feel it between your toes.

Something nostalgic. Some kind of English countryside where your mother or your aunt or a family friend read you Beatrix Potter stories and you assumed one day you would live that life. You assumed that one day you would buy a house, find a lover, build a chair that would always feel that way and keep you in a moment in time when the sun was only thinking about setting and only got around to it when the both of you agreed it was most appropriate.

I felt that way too. I feel that way too.

There is a taste in the evening. A certain type of sweetness that is thick in the wandering wind as it curls around your neck and around your face. You wonder if you're in the South, the North, the East or the West and you realize that really you're just in that moment and you better hold on to it and not think about it so darn much. Then you smell the air, and it creeps into your mouth and you taste it, you taste summer evenings and you forget what the winter even feels like and you thank God you're not somewhere like Southern California where you can take this kind of thing for granted.

This must be how people have always lived. With dew like silk settling on the ground, clothing the blades of grass in something you can't buy. With cool air soaking your skin, whispering to you how you'll regret getting that jacket you're thinking about. Don't block it out. This is how people must have always lived. Before ringing and buzzing and blinking and chiming. But with voices and intonation and whispers and laughs that don't need to be written out because you can see their head thrown back with their mouth open wide, and you're laughing too and never looking at your watch because there's a chance— a rather bold temptation— to live with the dew and see the morning. To keep the sun and moon company while others worry about themselves and the lives they wish they had, realizing that if they just opened their eyes— if they just stopped for a moment and opened their eyes they could have the same life as we do.