Summer solstice

A day spent walking slowly to the park, burying my nose in every scented plant I saw. Wearing impractical flowing skirts and jangling bangles to do a sun-dappled yoga session outdoors. Running through every chi gong I know, spending hours and hours, spending time profligately on all, and only, what makes me feel deliciously stretched, fulfilled, full, alive. Painting in ink, quick sketches of the trees surrounding me. Painting in watercolor, portraits of eucalyptus. Baking blueberry muffins and slicing into ripe plums and golden apricots for solstice salad, drinking tart cider and playing silver notes of guitar. Smiling at every person I see. Winking at beautifully shaggy men. Winking at children. Winking at the elderly woman unobtrusively pocketing Starbucks' sugar packets. Stretching my arms up to the sun, in the middle of the street. Going barefoot. Laughing out loud. Harvesting mugwort to tuck into my shoes and under my pillow. Harvesting yerba santa to clear my cough. Harvesting chrysanthemum to bring the gold of the longest day into my home, and remind me of how lucky I am.