We are having incredible weather up here, sunny, warm and delicious. Better yet, it’s supposed to hit the 70s by this weekend.
The 70s, people!
For most of you, that is probably no big deal, just normal springtime weather. But here in Alaska, it’s a reason to rejoice, to kick off the long pants, pull on a pair of shorts and a tank top and expose our winter-pale skin to the glory of the sun (burn, baby, burn).
Today after I got off work (a menial summer job that I kinda love), we ran the Turnagain Arm Trail. It was warm and sun peeked through the trees and the inlet shimmered and purple flowers sprouted and birds sang (you get the picture, no?).
I felt intoxicated by the green. I wanted to roll in it, like a dog. Eat it and rub it over my skin. (Talking about rolling, Seriously rolled in bear poop, which is much stinkier than leaves and green stuff.)
Blame it on the green but I haven’t been (alas!) writing much. Summer is not my prime writing time. When it’s light half the night I can’t make myself stay inside behind a crammed desk. I’m not that disciplined.
Sometimes I think that life is short and you can either live it or write it. Other times I think that life is short and so you have to write it. Yet other times I think that life is short, yes, but long enough to both live it fully and write it fully (though it’s very, very difficult to write fully when there are so many, many hours to play outdoors).
And lastly, I’m loving, loving, loving this:
How could I have not heard of this before? The writing is so much fun. It’s perky and filled with puns and jokes and descriptions that are so odd and yet so perfect that I find myself reading lines out loud to my partner. (“Honey,” I interrupt as he’s watching the news or working on a lesson plan or fixing dinner or reading the serious and thick nonfiction books he prefers. “Honey, listen to this.”)
Have a warm, sunny and wonderful weekend, everyone.