summer tease

I know it isn't here to stay. I have lived in the Pacific Northwest long enough to know that July is the official start of the season, when the rains finally dry up and disappear and the tomatoes begin to burst, plump and red on their tangled vines. But today, unexpectedly in April, I enjoyed a small taste of summer. My dull and darkened senses are temporarily sated and I just might make it through another few drizzly months.

The day began at 7, warm and clear, the sun piercing through the spruce boughs and glancing off my bare shoulders as sat on the front porch and loitered over my morning coffee . M finally dragged himself into the new day, and we set to work straight away, schlepping compost and cedar chips, potting out marigolds and nasturtiums, sowing cilantro, parsley, dill, and moving over-wintered lavender into their rightful place in the sun. Mowers roared across a hundred lawns. Music thumped and squealed from the cars on the avenue. The whole city woke at once from its winter slumber and celebration was in the air.

Now I sit in the middle of the garden as the day quickly wanes, the season's first sunburn smeared across my nose and cheeks and my shoulders aching from the day's labors. Our friend V and K are on their way over to share dinner with us on the backyard deck. M has scrubbed off the grill and the Pinot Gris is in the refrigerator. The lights have been strung in anticipation of evening's approach, and firewood lies stacked in the driveway. Let the first true garden party of summer begin!