Snapshots capture images of summer. I only have to see one to again to smell and taste and feel and hear the pleasure of that moment.
|Music of Arts in the Park on a hot, pleasant blue-sky evening|
|that turned to black and white. Rain pelted. Coolness settled over the county.|
|A ball in mid-air rocketing toward the batter and a course-changing "Thwack!"|
|Dust. Popcorn. As the Ump cries, "Out!"|
|I clear day reflected on the water, or has the sky fallen to my feet?|
|The trill of the reel as line sails out and sinks.|
The smell of fish and heat and lake water.
The thrill of a catch to be taken up the slope to home and fried.
|Grandpa and Grandson share thoughts and silence|
as the south wind blows and light fades.
The world turns blue, then black
broken by colored bursts of fireworks and blasts.
|New places to explore and soak in beauty.|
Stories to be found and told
Treasures exist in the sharing and telling
some of them new, some of them old.
|Familiar places look different|
from the seat of a bike.
Slow and easy
The rise and fall of the land presents gifts never seen
from a speeding car.
|Ruffled white and water|
stuns the senses
|Early morning rain beads on a tomato vine|
promising favors of juicy flavors.
|Looking back, treasured memories |
are often closer than what they appear.
Happy Summer, Barn Door Readers. Take time to make your own postcard memories. Make time to share them. Life is too precious to rush through it. Until next month,