Cloudy Stuff of Dreams

In summer we all live in a dreamy place...

summer is lavish, fragrant, colorful, slow, humid, calm...

the children, in the country at least, play riotously and can hardly be persuaded to remember the necessity of sleep, 

even when the fireflies are blinking as high as their bedroom windows.

Also, the heat makes of neighborhood a genuine thing, people are out on lawns or porches; they are exhausted, happy, beneficent, 

less ambitious than in any other season, 

and they are full of the beautiful cloudy stuff of dreams.

-Mary Oliver

I'm at a loss for words, which quite frankly never happens.  I'm trying to carefully find the right words, but first I have to wrap my head around my feelings.  What the hell am I talking about? I don't know how to write it, say it, feel it.  So I will wait.  I will find the words.  Until then, I will soak up the words of poets and writers like the amazing Mary Oliver.  I love what she has to say about summer--it's the season for people to be full of the beautiful cloudy stuff of dreams.

My kids climb a mountain into the sky almost everyday.  It's not really a mountain, it's a medium-size dirt mound that tall grass has decided to grow upon.  But to my kids, it's a mountain.  They climb and conquer.  They slide down the slippery glass slopes.  And back up again.

I wonder if they will come back as grown ups and discover their mountain is a medium-size dirt hill.  I hope not.  I hope when they tell the stories to their kids about their summers, the mountain stays majestic and they stay full of the beautiful cloudy stuff of dreams.

This weekend, I tried to figure out my feelings, find my words in between baseball tournaments, walking the dog, reading stories...

"Go outside," Tim told me putting his arm around me.  "Just take a break and be alone outside."

Normally I would go on a run, but this time I got on my bike and rode through the trails by our house.  

I stopped the bike by the river and sat down and listened.  The water rushed over the rocks. The trees whooshed with the slight breeze.  The birds chirped.  The mosquitos bit.  The dragonflies buzzed.  And I just breathed.  And I felt calmer.  I felt like everything was going to be okay.  I felt like I climbed a mountain and I could dream again.

Still no words, but more peace and that's a start.

And just to keep it real, after a few minutes of meditating by the river I got the hell out of there because I was scared of the evil deer that are taking over the trails and my town.  I don't trust them.

This is an old song, but kind of perfectly captures my vibe as I was out on the trail this weekend.  It's Keep Breathing by Ingrid Michaelson.