True, it is what I what I do when I walk into a place with glass on the shelves or woven hues on the racks or stacks of fresh books lined and starched and all facing straight ahead. Because these are the kinds of things I might like to bring home, hold in my hand, set down and use, turn, wear around, while the sun rides that chariot around, around again straight across the free-arching sky.
I do turn things over. I check the backside. I look for the tag with the numbers to tell me what it will take of my life to name the thing mine.
But when it comes to this, the full June on the nape of the neck and the begonias all flushed on the porch, the sheen of girl-sized bubbles and her gaping wonder before the bursting moment, the slapping splash before the the drip of all things cold and sweet, no, for this I never give it a thought or a second one.
Summer tips her bowlful of sun warm on my face and I like this. I want to hold this, all the shades sliding down the open blue and I want to live alive to all these basking days and I want this brightness and this flame and these kids all in full-bodied summer and why have I never bothered to look for the tag on all that is commonly exquisite?
The most enchanting days never cost a thing, only that you pay attention.
I slow down and open the eyes wide and dig deep into the pocket of me.
I’m thinking now is worth all I have.
“…look with your eyes and hear with your ears
and pay attention to everything I am going to show you,
for that is why you have been brought here.
Photos: the free wonder of summer here…
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