Shiney bits on the ground on Bastille Day. Walking to lunch today with Sally, the concrete was alive with the glitter of magic! It was like daytime fireworks under our feet.
I had planned to write about the passing of the seasons, especially summer. How it just doesn’t mean the same thing to me as an adult. Especially in San Francisco. Sure, the days are longer and the quality of light different, but it does not hold the magic of days of yore when the academic calendar ruled my life. Well, that and summer humidity.
Just today I saw a back-to-school sign in a store and felt nothing. Once upon a time I would have lamented the impending end of my seasonal freedom. Instead, I felt nothing.
As midnight is fast approaching, I’ll save my memories of 1994 fireworks in Paris on Bastille Day that inspired fear and awe. (However, I did have a surprise run-in with my Tours roommate Celeste just yesterday, a trip down memory lane outside of Ritual Roasters. More on that some other time.)
For now, I’ll just summer solo in my memories of vacations past.