I know I will miss these mornings. I know I will dream of their early light and warmth once we move a bit further around the sun, pulling her into a new stretch of our sky; a lower one. Once the leaves have started to drop themselves onto the cement sidewalks where I walk, imprinting themselves into the path below my feet. It won’t be too long before a small hue of cold colors the air, and from there, all of this now will be a sweet reminder and something to look forward to again.
I remind myself of this when I am lingering a little too long in bed. When the light has already peeked through all the windows and the earliest bird has already gotten her coffee. I yearn for this time all year, and now that it is here, I choose to half-sleep through it while my alarm sings its song every fifteen minutes.
And I am left dreaming of another season to come.
There is a topic that consistently returns to my mind, though in reality it probably never leaves. It hovers there, above my third eye. A question. A wonder. A thought without resolution. A path without a direction. It waits. It waits until it has a chance to be wrung of truth, or at least a chance to be understood.
It’s this topic of potential versus reality. It’s future and could-be and possibility arm-wrestling with now and being and presence.
I often see things for their potential, and not for what they really are. Obviously this is a trait that can serve well in business, but poorly in romance.
I see potential everywhere, and it blinds me. My blessing and my curse.
I am in the thick of summer. It cushions me on all sides. Open doors and windows, a lawnmower somewhere down the street, sun-heated blanket in the grass, kids at the park, full trees shimmying with the salty breeze coming off the Sound. This is it. This is full swing summer.
It could be fall, and dreams of it are kind. But it isn’t. And the art of determining when to focus on what is and when to focus on what could be is something I need to learn.