is one of the trials of my patience when it come to summer. Each night, since the first day of May, I sit, watching out the window across the fields in hopes of seeing one of the blinking lights that screams, boldly and with great emphasis, SUMMER IS HERE!
I realize it is too early, too cool, too soon, too much still May, and therefore, still springtime, for them to appear; I watch anyway.
And I wait.
There are few things more glorious than sitting on the front porch under the sweltering heat of a hot summer night with the myriad of stars and planets pulsing and shimmering overhead and watching the flicker and fade of one of nature’s triumphs.
I’m pretty sure that in the rest of the world (by the rest, I am referring to “not the South”), they are called fireflies. A rose by any other name and all that jazz. Around here, we call them lightning bugs.
The sky has already changed. The daylight lasts longer, the clouds in the evening (and with the seemingly constant rain of late, the clouds are abundant) are laced with tinges of red and gold from the setting sun. The beauty of that light never fails to take my breath away.
I am spellbound by it.
In the mountains, it isn’t always easy, especially living in a valley, to see the sunset. The remnants of it in the clouds, however, is an awesome and spectacular experience.
The only thing more awesome are the Godlights that, although few and far between, show their stunning beauty as the rays of the sun spear upward, demanding to be noticed, across a not quite, but nearly summer sky.
May has, since the death of my husband a few years ago, been a hard month for me. Not this year, though. I made a conscious decision that I wasn’t going to let the memory of his upcoming birthday diminish my joy of late spring. I decided to, instead of dreading it, dedicate it to him, to my Jim, in a remembrance, of sorts, of he who cherished me in a way that I still struggle with understanding.
So I did. I dedicated May to Jim for it is a glorious thing to be cherished. I miss him sometimes in a way that threatens to destroy my hard-won independence … but life goes on, whether I am up to the task or not.
So far, it has been a thrilling, energizing, encouraging experience. I should have done it long ago, but I suppose I wasn’t ready before now. I reckon, on some level, I was hoping to find that one person that I could say anything to and know that I would, even when I was confusing, incoherent, rambling and discombobulating, be understood.
Sometimes, I think I have found them and others, I wonder if I’m only wishing for something that will never be again. I try, sometimes in vain, not to dwell on it.
I am a dreamer, first and foremost, after all. To put that burden off on someone who doesn’t really understand me on the most basic level is, at the very least, unfair, and even as I seek it, I understand that it is too much to ask.
There will never be another Jim. I understand that now, after nearly four years. I know that. I accept it, finally. I don’t expect, anymore, for anyone to understand me so perfectly, so completely. At day’s end, I look to myself and my Heavenly Father, who understands me even better than Jim, to fulfill my needs.
I do, however, wish fervently, for lightning bugs. I suppose, it is in part, due to my Sagittarius nature , for I am optimistic to a fault and hope for things that are well beyond the scope of normalcy.
I am not ashamed of this. I live life with my glass half-full, my eyes wide open and my heart always seeking the best in everyone around me.
Long live the Centaur.
A single drop of rain often goes unnoticed, and yet it’s beauty is profound. Time. A thing of beauty.
A Photographer's Heart 
