A loving, far-ranging, meditation on the meaning of summer.
What is summer made of? The smell of cut grass behind the gasoline of a lawnmower. Ponds, lakes, and oceans. The first swim. A sunburn. A crown you’ve made of flowers. Blackberry bush prickers. Fat red tomatoes sliced thin and salted. First hot dog off the grill. Stargazing, spooning, and sleeping with the windows open. Two bodies, naked and entwined. Throbbing light from fireflies. Nina MacLaughlin's essay (first published by Paris Review online) brims with a searching honesty and insight about what this season has meant in our pasts and what it might mean in our lives ahead.
Release yourself into the sky and feel, for a moment: there's time.
What is summer made of? The smell of cut grass behind the gasoline of a lawnmower. Ponds, lakes, and oceans. The first swim. A sunburn. A crown you’ve made of flowers. Blackberry bush prickers. Fat red tomatoes sliced thin and salted. First hot dog off the grill. Stargazing, spooning, and sleeping with the windows open. Two bodies, naked and entwined. Throbbing light from fireflies. Nina MacLaughlin's essay (first published by Paris Review online) brims with a searching honesty and insight about what this season has meant in our pasts and what it might mean in our lives ahead.
Release yourself into the sky and feel, for a moment: there's time.
Used availability for Nina MacLaughlin's Summer Solstice