Summer Break
The weathered, slatted rocking chair was a good place to relax. Years ago we carted it home to Ontario from a holiday in North Carolina. Using the chair on the front porch is a bit of a metaphor for life, the comfy to-and-fro rhythm interrupted by bumps when wooden rockers hit the uneven edges of cemented flagstones.
I was taking a break outdoors on a bright, breezy June afternoon, the very best of Toronto’s summer weather. My daughter and her family would soon arrive from Vancouver, and their visit motivated me to get some postponed housework done. I'd cleaned out the junk drawer and washed the venetian blinds, scrubbed windows and scoured the oven, all tasks that usually don’t even make it to my list. It was a relief to sit down and look around.
Several generations of homeowners have transformed a former market orchard into our neighbourhood of lush, well-tended gardens and clashing styles of architecture.
We moved into our bungalow in the 1970's as our first house.
Apparently it's our only house.
As I rocked, the warm wind stroked my skin and made every tree branch wave. Idly, I noted what species I could see. The variety surprised me. Red Maple, Weeping Cedar, Linden, Japanese Lilac (the city’s choice), Spruce, Ginkgo, Golden Cedar and Birch trees were all within view.
A fuzzy, fat bumblebee grazed on the lavender bushes' new flowers. I imagined lavender-flavoured honey hidden nearby.
Milkweed plants, our invitation to Monarchs, now stood a metre high and held purple globes of blooms. Does anyone ever notice wild milkweed before the fluff-filled pods appear?
A cream and black butterfly moved between fading white lilac blossoms, her busy ballet contrasting with the flowers’ inevitable dying.
Out of nowhere zoomed toward me a large bird, but its white-tipped wings lifted it out of sight before I could get a close look. Nature is like its Creator, beautiful and reliable yet full of surprizes, inviting relationship but well beyond my control.
It was hard to settle into the moment – oh, I should put polish on my toenails...and shake out that dirty doormat...and...
Thank God that the glorious mystery is always there, waiting for me to pay attention, especially in a growing season.
