People tell me that summer is more than half over. They say this with the sadness that comes from endings, and look ahead to school or work and the close of lazy vacation days. I tell them that I understand something of endings, too, these days. My summer has been glorious, though it seems like it is ending too soon.
The truth, I realize, is that, while many will stay here and summer will end and the normal cycle of life will continue into the fall - I am moving into a different phase: a phase of extended summer, in which the long adventure and the accompanying search will continue, and postcards home will list the highlights: "Wish you were here. Many miles to go." And then I will go on living, strangely enough, in this place where summer extends long into the fall.
So I will pack, yet again. I have gotten used to living out of a suitcase, so this step does not seem quite so strange. I have gotten accustomed to carrying only what I need; either that or the definition of "what I need" continues to shrink as the days go by.
1 comment:
Here's something about carrying things:
It's a fragment from the poem 'stepping westward' by Denise Leverov:
'...If I bear burdens
they begin to be remembered
as gifts, goods, a basket
of bread that hurts
my shoulders but closes me
in fragrance. I can
eat as I go."
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