A letter to My Little Sister in Tucson, Lexie in NOLA and Hanni in Humboldt…

Finally, the world is turning to the season you will experience on your annual visit. Zanne you will return to your cottage by the lake. Lex and Hanni, I am counting on your returns, to me here. Until you all do come back, I wanted to awaken some memories for you. The evenings cool off to sweater-temps, the frogs and tree toads sing, and the windows are cranked out just enough to allow the breeze and the sounds. The cool of New Hampshire summer evenings refreshes the air.

Nights will come, though they will be few and short-lived, where  the fans will be running just to move the stagnant, moist air. The very sheets will stick and we will dream of blankets of snow. For now, we relish the feeble warmth. children are outside as parents cook on grills;  the warmth from the cooking draws everyone near. At night we still snuggle under the down comforters and flannel sheets, as the breeze flows through the open windows. This is New Hampshire in the spring and early summer.

It’s the seasons of your youth, the green-oh so awesomely green-impossibly green canopy of leaves as you drive down familiar roads that have yielded up snow-banks and potholes, treacherous black ice and frost heaves. It’s the season of renewal and remembering. We aren’t bored enough by the heat or humidity to complain. We are revealing in the changes.

Views are softening and will soon be blocked by the leaves that fill in where the pines leave off in winter. The light flows for hours, like the steams from the mountains,  and we stay outside as long as possible; at least until the black flies raise welts and we seek the comfort of the breeze through an open window behind the screens.

Every bloom is cherished, every sprout monitored. The first mowing of the lawn, a carpet of dandelions prior to the whirring blades, soaks our senses with the first smell of fresh-cut grass. The ground is still gushing, so need to water yet, that parched heat is still far in the distance. Memorial Day Weekend, the official start to SUMMER is a simple count-down away.

These are the memories we share. This is the picture I want to paint for you with my words. Your ages span the decades but your memories are ageless. I am writing this letter to share with you of the beauty that is all around us, every day, no matter where you are. Zanne, your sunset that turns your rugged  mountains of Arizona to a soft blanket that surrounds you.  Lex, your street swing from soupy hot days to Gumbo-filled nights the city alive with humanity, Hanni, your ocean mumbling to the redwoods majestic silence. Remember your seasons. Take note of how the day passes and the gentle movement of the world around you.

The last lonely calls of the loons on the lake, the last cry of the night hawk in the woods…