The Final Days of Summer

Howdy!

It's been a few months.

I went off on an epic six-week journey through Europe. I sunbathed in French meadows and chewed on fresh plums. I sat on English trains and enjoyed the bliss of moving worlds, matched with i-pod sounds. I cooked Lasagne for Grandma and bought socks in Blackburn Market. I ventured like an intrepid explored to the Lake District - weighed down by tent, Himalayan-sized rucksack, sleeping bag and copious amounts of clothes. I slept under ancient trees and meditated in a holy temple surrounded by thousands of Sangha. I felt the immeasurable love and huge compassion of a humble Tibetan monk as he gave his final teachings.

Sleeping out with the elements was amazing, and the major realization was my all-new respect for the animal kingdom. How the hell do they cope without walls? The terrifying power of thunder when you're lying on the Earth, FEELING its roar coarse through your veins. In an instant I understood the ancient people who worshiped Gods of the sky, who knew the religious fear that only a storm could conjure.

I had a blissful final five days with my parents and my precious Brother's family, a magical niece and nephew who I love so much that it feels like my heart my burst in my chest. At last I flew back over the Atlantic to see my gorgeous Tim.

So here we are now in the final days of summer. A few snatches; blueberry picking with a coffee tin swung around the neck. Dappled sunlight, blue lips. A week-long trip to Saco and an eclectic night out with Tim's aunt - to a theatre in a barn and a play about the winters of Maine. Ice creams under the black pine trees during the interval.

And today, the continual rain falling and a cold front pulled in by the passing of Hurricane Bill. A sweater is needed. Socks come out of the drawer, and I sense my first movement to the end of an American season. It's a surprising feeling. Instead of dread, it's a rush. Of change. Of a new chapter. And a reason to write again.