This is such a strange time for me - really, a really odd moment in my life. July, in particular, is an odd month. A year ago, right now, I was pregnant for the first time, and I was excited beyond description (Mary would absolutely run out of superlatives and capital letters, were she trying to describe how excited I was). From this vantage point, I remember it as an innocent time, for lack of a better word.
I'm not sad in remembering - mostly because that season is over, and I have a reason to be excited again. Still, as I said, this is an odd moment in my life, and as we try to end the limbo and just get ready for our future, I can't help but think about where we were last summer.
So, I'm posting this. In memory of, I suppose.
I didn't write it - Janet (one half of the beautiful and talented BUF) did. When I first read it, it described how I felt last summer better than anything else - better, even than things I have written about it. So, with her permission, I'm going to share it here. Incidentally, Janet wrote it in the summer of 2003. Good writing doesn't tell a story as much as it communicates emotion. Though I'm sure our stories are different, our summertime emotions were similar.
Written August 2003 (that's the title)
I drove tonight
I opened all the windows and let the warm summer night suck you out of my car
and welcomed the balmy breeze into my lungs
onto my skin
blowing through my hair
Broccoli thawing in the backseat
I drove slow and had the radio barely loud enough to hear
I needed to be alone
I needed to think
I invited the sweet southern comfort in
to wrap around me
the chirping crickets, the whispering trees,
the honeysuckle sweet and liquid in my nose
The truth is,
you've scraped me raw and
I have to start over
I'm through thinking about you
and taking you everywhere with me
I drove down every county road I'd never been down before
and by the time I got home
I still couldn't remember
what I used to think about.