Sandwich back yard

Summer Chairs

I could have taken a picture of the soot-specked, stick-encrusted snow-ice rammed into place at the end of the driveway by the pugnacious snow plow. I could have taken a picture of the massive pine bough across the front yard. Or the clothesline draped in ice. The bent snow shovel. The snow itself half way up the back door. The line-up of sturdy wellies in the kitchen.

But everyone, almost everywhere it seems, knows it has been a very long, intense winter. With more snow expected, I thought it might be a relief to dream into this summer photograph of a back yard in Sandwich, Massachusetts even though this image with its grass and flowers, its sundial, and humid, shimmering light seems as far away as the moon…or at least Paris…as distant as a 40 year-old memory.

I try to recall summer and its ease, its sweetness. Try to remember corn on the cob and iced tea and potato salad and arugula straight from the garden. The freedom of bare legs, sandals, and cotton skirts. And sweat, the sticky dampness on sun-soaked skin. The sultry nights with fireflies flickering in the hydrangeas and the night air heavy with salt.

I imagine sitting in these summer chairs enjoying a big white cup of creamy coffee and watching the morning breeze ripple across the water, listening to the rustle of leaves. In this picture, I imagine a yellow cat and a battered rowboat, a good friend to talk to, or a favorite pen scratching across rough, brown paper. I feel like Eliza Doolittle…wouldn’t it be loverly.

But it’s important and necessary to keep the faith. This beautiful earth is turning; the sun is higher in the sky, and when I open the porch door, bright light spills onto the floorboards. There are snowdrops buried somewhere. The fluffed-out robins sing in the hedges under the dark cottage windows. And even though the wind blows a chilly gray off the water, there is hot soup on the stove and hunks of warm bread; there is a trusty furnace; there are good books and down comforters and sturdy boots and lively friends.

Winter is a challenge to body and spirit. It is weary and wearing, but in the end, it’s no match for dreams. Come sit with me in summer chairs. Let’s speak of our hearts’ desires. Let’s wrap our sweaters tighter and and wait in our summer chairs for rainbows, for one more golden chance.