A “baseball game is nothing but a great, slow contraption for getting you to pay attention to the cadence of a summer day”

Summer is the time when one sheds one’s tensions with one’s clothes, and the right kind of day is jeweled balm for the battered spirit.  A few of those days and you can become drunk with the belief that all’s right with the world. (Ada Louise Huxtable)

I apologize for my lackluster posts recently, I have a terrible case of senioritis (though I’m only a freshman).

My mind is such a jumbled mess of memories, anticipation, and insomnia I barely have room for well formulated, interesting posts. It seems I’m on the tipping point between having no time to do anything, and the time to do everything. When ever I try to write I’m overwhelmed by the lingering end of term research paper I have to finish and a mound of trig I never even began. I can’t wait to be done with school and have all summer to major in barefoot beach romping and tree climbing and photography expeditions in the forests near my home. I want my homework to be guitar playing, poetry writing, classic movie watching and I want the flexibility to just lay in the grass and watch the clouds if I want to.

I can already feel the sun seeping into my bones, falling asleep to the sound of crickets, waking up well past noon. The smell of old books and dusty, airconditioned libraries, freshly mown grass and lavender lemonade.

I obviously have plenty of time to ramble…

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