solemn vows and summertime

Today as I drove home from Anchorage, I noted joyfully that the trees all have little buds on them just waiting to open into new green leaves. When I pulled into our little drive, the gravel crunching under our tires, I saw green grass sprouting the the sunniest parts of my yard. Bulbs are coming up and starting to bloom, and the Cranes are returning in huge grey flocks. I think spring has truly come to stay in the Matanuska Valley.

Despite these sure signs of spring, it's still hard for me to picture what summer will look like; how lush and green and beautiful everything will really be. It happens year after year after year and it's still so hard to imagine when I stand outside and see only a still mostly sparse landscape surrounding me.

I needed a little extra encouragement tonight, so I looked at pictures from last summer. Oh was it green. And lush. And hot. And sunny. And the complete opposite of sparse. If it could be so perfectly alive last summer, and the first leaves didn't even bud until the end of May, I know it will somehow turn green and lush this year too.

So as dusk falls outside my window and I stare longingly at those pictures of last years summer, I'm making a solemn vow to soak up every minute of this summer, to really take note of the life, to carefully store up the precious memories as I make them, and to tuck them away for when things are once again dead and cold and my heart is heavy with longing for summer.