images from summer 2019

In the summer, the mornings and evenings are so wildly beautiful and fleeting they cause me pain. I feel it’s my duty to absorb every inch of this ephemeral world, but I can only do so much—there are too many blooming things and dappled shadows and I am small and tired; how could I possibly do justice to it all?

I’m filled with so much nostalgia I have a hard time seeing straight. I feel deeply for my restless, fledgling teenaged self, for the summer days I used to perceive to be so mind-numbingly dull, for my sisters that now navigate through the same world. Seven and nine years younger than me, they have been my muses for over a decade.

I am fiercely protective of them. When I see their bodies stretching sharper and taller I ache like I do during summer’s gloaming. A gift to watch them become more sophisticated by the day, but isn’t there some way to protect them from the turmoil of growing pains?

All this heartache, and I am not even a mother.