After the last day of summer camp, the children returned home with bulging backpacks and tired smiles. Project after project emerged – a construction paper heart with shiny ropes of yarn glued in the center, a twisty lanyard, a popsicle-stick picture frame, a pinch pot painted “just for you, Mommy.”
Was it a good experience, they were asked? Did you enjoy camp?
Forgetting the complaints and whines of the weeks just past, they nodded ascent. Memory soon forgotten makes it easy to sum up a life in positive terms. And then there was the television as distraction and the call of the air outside the house and a chase of long-legged lean bunnies from the nature preserve. Another chapter in summer closed.
Some days are sculpted into vases of time, waiting to be filled with productive moments and idea-generation. Other days converge on themselves in minutes that resemble those just past and those yet to be born.
In the early morning, a weather front causes the morning to be cool. The window fogs over with condensation. The children huddle in the mother’s bed to watch cartoons. Three together beneath the blankets.
Soon, routine will return. Soon, every minute will be crafted into purpose and we will long for the free-run of summer days when bedtime paled in comparison to the adventures of the night.
In the dreamscape, porpoises nose out of the deep, deep waters and crest above the gleaming surface only to dive back in. Creatures of repetition and flow. The trees are singing and waving their branches along the footpath. The forest is full in late-season bloom and the farmers market has expanded its reach as the tomatoes become ripe.
All is well in the last days of summer. The yearnings, the dreams, the lurkings and hopes, all diminish with the setting sun.
Was it a good experience? Did you enjoy camp?
But that moment has passed and now the children are focused on something right beneath their feet: an ant on the sidewalk, a crack in the pavement, a stick that becomes a wand of magic, spearing at the rivulets in the bark.