Something about these long, warm June days makes me want to slow down, slow everything down. My motivation melts like an ice cream cone in a child’s hand on a bench, in a park, in the ripples of sun that cast themselves down on us through the screen of shimmering, green leaves.
I come to my computer: to write, to work, to pay bills–activities that I allow my mind to label “chores,” activities that I approach with more anxiety the longer I procrastinate on them.
You see, as the days lengthen, with light stretching itself long into evening, far past 9:00, I feel that time itself is lengthening, stretching its legs, slowing, pausing.
I am swimming in memories of the summers of my youth, when it seemed the days lasted forever, and the beginning of the next school year felt a lifetime away. I spent those long, hot days among stacks of library books, hungry for words, turning pages quickly, eager for the other-world escape a child finds so easily between the pages of a book.