Weaving through Sunbeams

A journey of feeling my way into summer

I have always struggled to make friends with summer. Although I have a deep love of the seasons and the abundance that each one brings, summer for me is a somewhat strained, love-hate relationship. It sometimes feels like heresy to admit this because “everyone loves summer“ and cultural expectations are high in terms of having fun and being sociable.

There’s a pressure that I don’t feel at any other time of year. The combination of the intense energy of the season with its high, bright sunlight and sticky heat feels a little exposing, and my energy evaporates alongside the sweat on my skin. Yet in these endurance months (as my inner monologue refers to them) I am also acutely aware that wishing the time away until the autumn arrives is futile and a waste of precious days.

Perhaps it’s because I have arrived squarely in the middle years now and time suddenly feels like it’s slipping away far more quickly that it did twenty years ago. But I can’t help feeling that this is no way to live, waiting for months to pass until a specific set of ideal weather criteria arrives and with it, happiness. This year I am feeling my way into summer, recording the small glistering moments that are carrying me through.

Campfire woodsmoke braiding itself through my hair and clinging to thin cotton.

Standing in the summer rain, droplets cooling hot dry skin and soft breezes bringing goosebumps.

Playing music in meadows, with just the birds for company.

Sleeping under canvas, and hearing morning magpies hop their way across the fabric.

June’s full moon pouring silver beams down through the tree tops of forest gatherings.

Tumble-down roses on the cusp, with their scattered petals and gently curled edges.

The peppery taste of the first nasturtiums and the garden vegetables ripe enough to eat.

Sitting with the back door open listening to the meditative sound of summer showers.

Cooking by fire, with appetite quickening.

Long grass brushing against bare legs.

Seeds becoming plants in the kitchen garden.

Musical evenings arounds woodland fires.

Verges and hedgerows full of oxeye daisies and wild carrot.

The beauty of foxglove spires and the secret stories they bring.

The lingering smell of tomatoes on my fingers after pinching off new shoots.

Ripening berries hiding between thorns and leaves and the worthwhile scratches to taste them.

How about you? Are you a summer lover? Or do you also find comfort in the cooler months?

Today I am celebrating my two year Substack anniversary, so I thought I would share some posts from the archive. These are some of my personal favourites that I hope you’ll enjoy reading.

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Thank you for reading and supporting my words. It means a lot to me and I really appreciate your thoughts and responses. I hope you’ll continue to join me in this journal where the natural world meets hearth and home as I carry on seeking untamed edges, the imperfect and the meaningful.

Best wishes,

Jo