Effectively, it's summer here. On sunny days, you can go out with no worries what you're wearing. Our doors are open for long periods of the day; we have
screens on them. The nights are cool and fragrant. For a teenager, it's a bonanza.
I remember those teenage days, about 25 years ago now, when I believed in magic. There was a pot of gold for me out there: all I had to do was find it. Walking
under the stars in the intoxicating West Coast night, it was easy to believe. The blue moonlight, the flowers' soft perfumes ...it was "stronger than moonshine", just like
America describes California. Spring wasn't like this in the Maritimes.
When I left school, it wasn't easy. The pot of gold was elusive. All around were people who didn't believe in magic.
The west coast way, though, is boom and bust. Eventually, you do make a hit if you keep stepping up to the plate. Really, it's like the weather out here: six
months of rain, then six months of summer. It's a precarious way to live: when you're in one extreme, you can't imagine the other will return. When it does, it's
brain-rending. So it is with the weather, logging, our economy, and life.
It's tempting to go out walking again these nights, but quoting Bob Seger, "Those drifter's days have passed me now/I've got so much more to think about." Tired
at the end of the day, I'm content to leave these magic nights to the flowers, the frogs, and the teenagers.
* * *
Here's Luke Skywalker, one of those young dreamers who finds his pot of gold. Restless and daring, he eagerly joins the Rebellion to eventually confront his own
father, Anakin. (You can find my article on Anakin here: just scroll down to the November 14th entry.)
This drawing is from about two and a half years ago. The beautiful weather has got me nostalgic, as you can tell:)