Summer is ripening this year like a golden peach, every bite of leisure sweet to savor, a welcome respite from things that otherwise dominate our worker-bee attention spans the rest of the year. Family and friends load up their cars, buy their plane tickets, put on their hiking boots, jump on their bikes and climb aboard all manner of conveyances to return to old haunts or to explore those completely new to their experience and palate as travelers.
Meanwhile, the world rocks heedlessly on, the headlines framing with their heavy, black ink, the troubles that await our return and attention, bad news looming as if dark sentinels over the family picnic by the sea. We plan our escapes, stopping the newspapers, suppressing our compulsion for digital transfusions, making room for thought, conversation, and doing, long shelved like holiday ornaments. Our lagging spirits demand refueling.
Post-vacation, we are reminded of our summer pursuits through evidence left behind of their passing—the photographs, the magnet on the fridge, the book on the shelf, the postcards sent, the receipts in our wallets, bills in the mail, and our pets exhausted and happy we are home at last. It takes time to move back into our routines and reclaim the normalcy that settles over our shoulders like a colorless garment. Still, just as Dorothy said in the Wizard of Oz, “there’s no place like home.”