It is the last day of you lingering here and I don’t want you to leave just yet—I’m not ready to say goodbye.
I’m not ready to watch the brown of my tanned feet fade away under my socks and I’m not ready for sweaters and for days that bite me with their chill—
I’m just not ready to say goodbye.
There were moments you held me close when I wanted to fade away; some nights were so dark that the only thing that kept me going was knowing the birds would sing in the morning and that each day was a brand new one and an opportunity to start again.
The warmth of your bounty filled me with bright foods that brought delight and nourishment from the outside in and my tiny home was full of the many breeds of blooms that each month invites in.
I walked for hours and hours, my four-legged love and I, free of any layers that weigh us down—and it’s possible that we could have walked for days and weeks more. We got lost in our thoughts, in the sound of our foot fall, by the water and through the trees. We walked so much that my boots seem to be on their last hurrah, the soles replaced four or five times, now, because we love our walks so much.
My days and nights were not full of people and barbeques and gatherings, but the rare moments that they did happen, I was grateful for the company; there were rarer nights that were full of music and dancing and in raising the vibration and for those I am grateful, too.
My days and nights instead were full of solitude and your light, by the sun and the moon. The ever-changing shape of the sky and everything she carries; the different kinds of winds and the different ways that the trees delivers messages.
You taught me the need of slowing down and how to heal my broken self and you taught me how to forgive myself and make this a daily, moment-to-moment practice, one that is always happening.
You created space for writing and expressing and you encouraged me each day to show more of my rare, raw heart; in the teachings you had hidden up your sleeve, you taught me about balance, and how to hold on without gripping when the scales tipped too far in one direction.
There is so much about you I will miss.
And so, tonight on your last night here for some time, I will honor the moments we had—the moments I fell and the moments you held me so I could rise again—for I will always in my heart be a summer babe.