No sooner had I sent off the (truly) finished book, than fall ushered in a spell of absolutely spectacular weather. And for once in my life, I had an ounce of sense. I threw my chores list out the window, and set off to recapture as much of summer as I could.

One beautiful day at my sister’s cabin, kayaking and talking and sitting in the sun.
One glorious afternoon of sailing with a friend.
One intensely lovely spot above a hidden waterfall, in which I sat for hours.
One day’s aimless meandering along the river, tossing in pebbles, climbing among giant cottonwood roots, watching the smooth, endless current roll past.

I filled the well, I packed in the lovely quiet times outside in the sun and clean air; and by the third day I was bringing my notebook with me, jotting down the ideas that were bubbling to the surface.

I didn’t get a whole summer. But I got one incredibly beautiful week. And, you know? It was enough.

back | Essays