Summer's Promise
Lots of Things Growing

Dandelion Wine (and My Summer Vacation)

A couple of weeks ago I made it a habit for seven days to read the short opening chapter of Ray Bradbury's classic, Dandelion Wine, that is, to read it each dayIt begins with a 12-year old boy waking on a summer morning -- the first morning of Summer --- and details what he sees and hears in his neighborhood.  It captures the sense of magic of Summer, at least Summers of old, and the heady feeling of power a kid can have at the wonder of life and his ability to do anything (or, at least, think he can do anything.)  I want that.  I want that back.  I'm working on it.

But part of working on that is a deliberative inattention to you, my readers (well, all five or so of you anyway).  For now, I don't want to write about it but just live it.  Nothing too exciting, really.  Just looking more, and thinking.  The great thing about blogging is the self-imposed discipline of it and the feedback you sometimes receive.  The bad thing is that I find myself writing about that which I have not yet fully lived and reflected on.  Thus, I am off duty, havebeen off duty for going on a month now, soaking up Summer - still writing it down, just mostly in my journal.

I'm still outwalking.  I won't be able not to write.  You can catch the dribble of it by following me on Twitter, or by tracking my mundane movements here and there on Facebook, though I'm far from prolific or regular.

I'll get back to you.  Summer is no where near as long as it used to be, but we can pray that God will expand its realm, its sunny wonder, in our lives.  After all, He's the one who can make the sun stand still.  I want nothing so drastic --- just a slower secondhand.