The half past blog ...
It's half past 2019, we are in the hot month of July here in Atlanta and it has been a sweltering 90+ degrees a week now.
This summer, hot and humid, is a perfect Atlanta summer. One evening not too long ago I was driving through an old familiar neighborhood, down streets I've known for a very, very long time, yet somehow through being familiar, familiarity has become challenging. It is almost like looking at your partner of 25 years and asking yourself, "Who is this person?"
But on this night, I am driving home past sunset, not so soon past as when the sky shows any sign of light, but at the very time when the darkness has finally set in, and I begin to remember Atlanta summers while traveling on my most familiar road. The heat and humidity are lingering soft through the lush, leafy trees that make Atlanta beautiful and majestic. The southern landscape sings softly on the bows of crickets, and twinkles of green lights bedazzle the lawns of homes vaguely visible beyond a dark green which leads and fades into black. It is a perfect vision of the south.
This summer came up quick, and years are flying faster by. The days must be better planned for, days when we do notice the green grasses, or the birds still returning to nest in our trees. Time must be set aside to remember to live, it winds quicker the shorter it gets.
Perhaps the years of wild rides into the river on swinging ropes have long passed, but the days of gazing tranquilly at the poetic beauty and serenity on the water never do. So we must plan to see. Plan to return. In all seasons, plan to live.
This summer, hot and humid, is a perfect Atlanta summer. One evening not too long ago I was driving through an old familiar neighborhood, down streets I've known for a very, very long time, yet somehow through being familiar, familiarity has become challenging. It is almost like looking at your partner of 25 years and asking yourself, "Who is this person?"
But on this night, I am driving home past sunset, not so soon past as when the sky shows any sign of light, but at the very time when the darkness has finally set in, and I begin to remember Atlanta summers while traveling on my most familiar road. The heat and humidity are lingering soft through the lush, leafy trees that make Atlanta beautiful and majestic. The southern landscape sings softly on the bows of crickets, and twinkles of green lights bedazzle the lawns of homes vaguely visible beyond a dark green which leads and fades into black. It is a perfect vision of the south.
This summer came up quick, and years are flying faster by. The days must be better planned for, days when we do notice the green grasses, or the birds still returning to nest in our trees. Time must be set aside to remember to live, it winds quicker the shorter it gets.
Perhaps the years of wild rides into the river on swinging ropes have long passed, but the days of gazing tranquilly at the poetic beauty and serenity on the water never do. So we must plan to see. Plan to return. In all seasons, plan to live.
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