This week was a Gregory Alan Isakov song:
Summer days were just a magazine, a magazine
A magazine
Cutting grass for gasoline, for gasoline
So I can see ya soon
Fall swooned
Left me drunk in a field
Dandelion wine for a year
And I packed up the dust
Of all that I owned
Handkerchief hung from a pole
I rolled out the day that the apples fell
This week was mowing the lawn with the sweet smell of rotting apples, half eaten by squirrels. It was hot sun, cold rain, thunderstorms, cool nights, movies at the theater, telescopes by a water tower on a hill above the city
This week was rock climbing until my arms ached, slacklining until my legs ached, stacking firewood, family gatherings in the park, errands on a Friday night, farmers market and food on the grill
This week was a life well lived and a weekend well enjoyed. This week was Ray Bradbury’s Dandelion Wine:
“I want to feel all there is to feel, he thought. Let me feel tired, now, let me feel tired. I mustn’t forget, I’m alive, I know I’m alive, I mustn’t forget it tonight or tomorrow or the day after that.”
