One of the leisures of summer are the long days. The sun lingers in the sky. At nine in the evening the sky still has a hint of light.
This is a time of transition. Children come home from wondering the woods and creeks. Lawn mowers are turned off and other chores are put to rest. Work is done…play is done and the world acquires a comfortable position.
Winter does not have the prefect timing of summer. In winter when sun dips low in the sky, people still buzz like insects. The roads are still clogged with commerce and busyness. Yet, the summer sun does not have this assault on its setting.
As a boy, I wondered miles from my home during the summer. My only rule was to return home when the sun turned from yellow to red. Most always, my return trip was marked with a sense of satisfaction. And today, this time of day evokes powerful feelings of hinging on the transition or the passage time.
