As summer winds to an end, I am like a wide-eyed child loudly slurping the last dregs of a milkshake through a (environmentally friendly) straw. I want to taste every last drop of it!
Rising extra early in the mornings to witness the transition and bask in all of the subtleties. The gradual change in the leaves, the steam rising off of Garden Bay Lake, the way raindrops are held as perfectly tiny little orbs on the salal leaves … and of course, the sun appearing over top of Mt. Daniel minutes later day-by-day.
The other day I wrote my thank you letter to the summer of 2019.
Summer was a powerful season in my world. My eldest daughter graduated highschool and left the nest to embark on her own adventures. Most notably, moving into her first apartment with her boyfriend in the Okanagan where both of them will be attending the University of British Columbia. University.
It was a bitter-sweet experience. 2019 was my twelfth summer of being an independent parent, and ironically, I feel like I just figured out how to navigate the season with the three of us.
Having the opportunity to pause, put pen to paper… to reflect (and cry) gave me the opportunity to integrate so many rich lessons.
It was a good summer!
I finally learned that I can just as easily go to bed and rise early to maintain some semblance of structure and routine for myself and my business. Doing so gave me the opportunity to hold space to play as well as honour my own needs. I went camping for the first time without children- holy game changing experience, Batman! I released some powerful new offerings. I sang, I danced, I officiated ceremony. I loved.
Yet in a season of such abundance, somehow what I missed out on was begging to be acknowledged.
This is the first summer of my life that I didn’t swim in an ocean.
While I swam in magnificent lakes, I would have liked to have delved into more of them, and my body longs for the taste of sunshine and ocean brine drying on my lips.
There were flowers that I didn’t plant this year, like black-eyed susans, dahlias, coleus and cosmos. Actually, I barely grew anything this summer, a sort of experiment that showed me… I really need to grow. Once again, how important my physical home environment is was mirrored back to me.
As rich as my summer was, there are still unfulfilled hopes and wishes.
So when I finished my love letter to the summer of 2019, I stretched my imagination to next summer.
Putting pen to paper yet again, I wrote my letter to summer of 2020 and included such points as:
What experiences do I value the most?
What could I do differently to ensure the wildest most delectable summer EVER?
What plants do I want to grow, and where?
What adventures are non-negotiable?
At the bottom of my declaration, I wrote (as I always do) “this … or something better!”
Leaving space for possibility, appreciating that the Universe has its own mysterious and playful plans. May of which I couldn’t even begin to imagine!
When I was finished with the letter, I lovingly folded it, tucked it into an envelope and sealed it with a kiss before taping it into the back cover of my 2019 wall calendar, awaiting transfer to my 2020 wall calendar.
Magick is afoot.
So mote it be… and so it is.