This summer felt both like a blur and a slog, as summers often do. I live in a part of the country where, after 9 solid months of gray and rain, summer’s arrival always feels like an absolute frenzy of activity, as people cram as much outdoor revelry into 3 (or really 2, because let’s be real it usually rains all June) short months. There is always an uptick in visitors; as people come to escape heat, or return home to where they grew up. It is a season of chaos and lack of routine set against verdent, Northwest idyll. It is absolutely wonderful, and bountiful, and stressful all at once.
This summer in particular was shaped by a magical, belated Beltane full-moon gathering with friends. (I know May is a straddle month, but it always feels like the spiritual beginning to Summer). We fed each other donut holes with rose petals, sang songs and Starhawk spells, sipped wine, and made wishes as we leapt over the fire. As I jumped over the flames, I named new but cautious openness to the idea of conceiving a second baby. With no particular urgency. Maybe when I finish all my backlogged work…
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