Thursday, April 9, 2015

Ode to Summer

I learn so much from sitting near Summer. Everything is new to her. It's all exciting, thrilling, vivacious. Everything that feels extraordinary to her needs to be shared, and so she calls me, with great fervour. "Mama! Mama!"  The geese migrating home, a moving V-shape across the great sky. The puddle at the end of our driveway, ready to receive her jubilant hop. The cardinal, a flash of red in the bare black branches of our neighbour's tree, calling its morning song. Her eyes are always moving, but as soon as they see something interesting, they always look to mine. She wants to see if I see it, too. Isn't this fun, Mama? isn't this so amazing?

And lately, I do share her effervescent joy. I find it on my own when walking through a thin layer of ice, cracking it under my boot on our morning walk. I squat down to her eye level to squint at an airplane flying overhead. Do you see it, Mama? Do you hear it? It flies! Amazing. 

Though her morning cup of milk is routine, she uses this predictability to build anticipation, dancing on the spot, hands shaking, little voice shrieking in excitement as I hand the sippy cup to her outreached hands. I can't help but smile and let myself be invited into her joie de vivre. 

Even though it's cold out, even though there's snow, even though her sister's crying, even though the toast has burnt, Summer is thrilled to be a part of it all. Lucky me. If the morning's going rough, if I'm feeling a little down, all I need to do is watch Summer move about the room and I am lifted up by her joyful, quick little steps as she races across the kitchen. 

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