A week after back-to-school night at my daughter’s school, our Indian summer ended abruptly. Clouds filled the sky. No raindrops fell, but it turned cool enough to convince me that, yes, summer is over. I’ll admit I didn’t want it to end. I love the long days of sunlight, the warmth, and fresh produce. I’m going to miss my hammock and lounging by the pool reading. I’m also going to miss meditating, practicing yoga, and journal writing in the back yard. I’m going to miss lying on my back and staring up at our eucalyptus tree. I’m going to miss hummingbirds and blue jays, and the smell of honeysuckle and damp earth after my husband has watered the yard.
A few months ago I bought a moonstone egg. When I roll the hard, cool stone in my hand, I visualize my memoir, which has not yet “hatched,” but is gestating. The blue tinge on the stone’s surface reminds me of the challenges I face writing it, the difficulty of mining the depths, telling the truth, and conveying complex human emotions.