Another Midsummer passed. The lupin and oak leaves drying brown on the maypoles. A hazy heat has overtaken early July, and I find myself wanting to retreat into the coolness of the forest more than finding a patch of beachsand at the lake. Poor little Max doesn't take to the heat so well, sweating in his little diaper while trying to sleep under the trees.
Tonight was a perfect summer night; grilling with Martin's parents on the cool grass -- steak, potato salad, greens picked from our garden with dill and lemon. Rhubarb lemonade and watermelon slices. Then perfectly ripened local strawberries, cream and coffee. We decided to take the "long" route home from Myresjö -- following small roads through old growth forests with mossed, gnarly oaks (my favourites), past small farms carved out of rocky, forested hills, small lakes, and numerous old homes and summer cottages.
It was the kind of drive that got us "lost" after two or three turns. Windows down, summer air smelling of farm, wildflowers and deep woods untouched by sunshine. Winding dirt roads branching off here and there. Just picking whichever "feels" best. We passed an old man on his putt-putt moped, dressed in tourist shorts and puffing on a cigar. Enjoying an evening drive through the oaks. Later, after innumerable turns and random choices, we passed him again on a different road. He had finished his cigar.
It's the kind of evening that makes me feel unburdened. Refreshed, purified somehow. The wind in my hair and the baby asleep in the backseat as we pass the spot Martin proposed to me five years ago. Life. Is good.
