These are the days I wait for all winter—the days of shimmery heat and goldy light, a light that dawns as pale as the inside of a lemon, bleaches to a white heat at noon, then sifts down as gold in the late afternoon. In the evening when the sun has set, the horizon is again pale yellow dissolving in indigo, a perfect backdrop for the mauve and purple clouds that settle behind inked in trees or tiptoe along the mountain ridges.
Today was such a day. The heat settled in before mid-morning, the sun spread its hot hand over the lawns and gardens and picnics and pools, leaving me panting and glad for cool water to sink beneath.
Before a late supper and a shower and a few pages of reading, before sleep, I took a walk to the pond to say goodnight to the frogs and the trees and the pink clouds. Swallows swooped and dove over the water, eating iridescent insects on the wing. A bullfrog harrumphed from the far shore and I harrumphed back. I drank in the sunset like a fruited drink, letting the warmth and the loveliness wash through me. Tomorrow is tomorrow. I will take today, all shimmery and goldy and full of light.