One Woman's Perspective
Last Week's Column

Summer Day
by Kira Sampson

his is a piece I wrote many years ago, about what it feels like to be a child on a summer’s day. Just consider it a gift from me to you, on a cold winter’s day... 

To be a child again on a summer's day...

You awaken and open your eyes; it is still dark, but it is a pearly gray darkness which says that dawn is near. You slip quietly out of bed and steal softly through the house, unlocking the front door with infinite care and tiptoeing out onto the porch.

Already the sky is lighter and you can see the outlines of trees and rooftops and hear soft rustlings as the chickens in the barn begin to stir. It is still too early for the roosters to crow. All is silent and hushed, yet there is a feeling of anticipation, as if a giant living being is just about to roar into life.

Softly you descend from the porch and step onto the dew-soaked grass, which is cool and velvety beneath your feet. You run swiftly, silently, to the meadow, hearing the wind of your passage whistle in your ears, knowing with a knowledge deep within you that you are the only human being alive and aware at this moment, knowing that somehow this must be the first dawn ever in the world and you are the first person ever to experience it.

You scale the old wooden fence quickly, as if it isn't even there; on the other side, you throw yourself face down in a patch of wildflowers, breathing in the sublime scent of earth and pollen and life.

You watch intently as an earthworm makes its shadowy way across your field of vision. A ladybug crawls onto your nose and you squint, seeing first two and then four images, multiple ladybug legs waving in the air. You laugh, the sound echoing in the stillness: the very first sound of the very first dawn.

You roll over and stand up, then race to the top of the hill just in time to see the first rays of sunlight gleaming on the horizon. You hold your breath as, in only seconds, the sun bursts into view like a joyous song of being. The radiant beams illuminate the fleecy clouds above them with an incandescent golden glow. A moment later, the entire sky is alight, and morning has begun.

**********

After breakfast, you run through the kitchen and out the back porch, screen door banging behind you. Across the driveway, silky sand sifting between your toes, you run and run and run for the sheer joy of it, across the yard and over the fence and into a pasture filled with clover and buzzing with bees.

A tree near the fence opposite you catches your eye and in a moment you are across the field and skimming up it, branches only temporary obstacles that you overcome and use to propel yourself upward in your effortless flight.

At the top you stop, breathless, and look around; trees and hills and meadows flow to the horizon in all directions. High above, a hawk circles lazily on a warm current of air; the remnants of morning haze vanish as you watch.

**********

Long, lazy summer afternoon...toes dangling in the warm creek, back against the uneven smoothness of tree bark, you gaze across the water and watch the play of sunlight and shadow on the opposite bank. Even the water flows slowly, as if it's in no hurry to get where it's going and would just as soon tarry here with you.

A fish nibbles at your toe, mistaking it for a fat worm. Time flows lazily, like a puff of dandelion down floating on a breeze, ascending slowly away and out of sight. Surely this day will last forever; there is no one else in the world but you, and you need do absolutely nothing except sit and dream in the warm sun.

Kira Sampson is a writer, homeschool mother, news editor, and editor/publisher of two newsletters, one for her local homeschool group and the other for a local writer's group.

She is also one of the Founders of VegSource. Her column, One Woman's Perspective, is a regular feature of VegSource On-Line Magazine.