Summer by Any Other State

Willard of iStock Photo

I could almost write, "Summer by any other name ..." because having traveled to Minnesota from Texas, what I see is so different from the summer I am accustomed to that I feel it needs another name. Most of my life, I have associated summer with shades of brown, with things baked crisp and dry, with having to be careful about time spent outdoors. We learned in childhood about salt pills, sunstroke, heat exhaustion.  Today, just outside of Minneapolis, as I write this post, I look out on a sea of green from an upstairs window. Marsh grass, cattails, young thin trees, tall, mature trees, each contributing its own tone of green to a satisfying visual symphony. As the light shifts through the daytime hours and into twilight, the greens shift their shades, as well, keeping time and staying in harmony with the hour.

It has been a long time since I have "felt" summer as a time of fruition rather than a time of perdition--of loss, absence, and the pressure of triple-digit temperatures. (It will be 109 today in my part of the Lone Star State.)  Aside from the physical respite that this foray into green is giving me, it serves as a metaphor and a reminder.

Mine is not the only summer in the world. I need not to limit my vision or my experience unnecessarily. I need to step out of my familiar world from time to time. By doing so for this week in summer, I have been blessed, and reminded of the wonders of this earth, its boundless variety. I plan to gaze on green every chance I have for the next few days, drink it in with my eyes, and do my best to remember its existence when I return to the drought-ridden plains of home.  I think I need to keep a green-green corner always in my heart and mind.

PS: My camera card is already too old to fit the new laptop I am working on while traveling, so I cannot upload my green on green photos, but the one by Willard above is a beauty!