We're in the height of summer now. I can tell because it gets more and more difficult to fully close doors, our home swelling with the humidity as I imagine it has done for the last 150 years. I saw the sunrise this morning, in my quest to restore my body and mind to some semblance of its better, prior state. The idea that I would see the sunrise for such a purpose seems laughable, belonging to an entirely more responsible individual. In my heart, I am a night owl and I struggle daily to fight against my primal nature. Generally, I succeed and I return to the start of my day, sweaty and flushed with victory, even if it means I will be a bit weary later on.
There's both movement and stillness to my summer, but not as much fun as I had planned. This focus on health feels so boring and yet, I know I will reap the benefits later on. It seems so simple in the beginning, pop a pill, move on with your life. But then it's weeks of getting the right dosage, teasing apart the symptoms that belong to something else. Then I'm waiting for test results, waiting to find out if I have thyroid cancer. I don't, but it's a strange, suspended state, that waiting. I've been here before. I'm always lucky. I feel relieved, then immediately guilty for all those who aren't, who weren't. I move on, one foot in front of the other.
I don't cook much at the moment. I keep it simple. I've even learned to skim the most pleasurable of experiences, dipping just a toe into that pleasure instead of diving in. That part is not as hard as I'd thought. But I've had to shut off that creative part of my brain, the part that thinks about pairings of flavors and trying something new. I will be able to return to that one day. But for now, I let it recede.
I continue to make paper flowers. It is the most soothing thing I do. When it's been a few days without a new creation, I begin to feel a little anxious, wound up. I sit in quiet, I make, and balance is restored. My garden is growing. One day I will train it, allow the creations to take forms, but I don't need it yet. The tangled growth is fine. Let it be.
On occasion I wander at night, my camera in hand. I am a voyeur, always after that glimpse of life through windows and in doorways. I love the shadows, the unexpected hits of light, the empty places after the fun dies down. Those moments, they are a gift to my primal nature. Then I go home, wake with the sun, and move on, one foot in front of the other. Soon, it will be fall.
