The Art of Missing

The beach in Wildwood on Maple Avenue - Sunrise

The beach in Wildwood on Maple Avenue - Sunrise

Walking the dogs tonight there was a smell in the air, a scent of fall leaves burning, even maybe a hint of winter. The scents of the ocean, the bay, water, sand, life, people, popcorn, pizza drifting from the brightly colored lights of the boardwalk are memories of summer’s past. Only in dreams can it be seen, only in dreams can we wish for days by the sea, playing, laughing, jumping into the cool blue. These scents so missed in a seasonal resort town where the sidewalks roll up after Labor Day, so missed during the long cold winter dry spell.
But just like the crocus and the daffodil the barrier islands will slowly start to come alive, to wake up and come back. Quickly the long days of summer give way to a stretch and yawn while it starts to make room for the new seasons. It shakes the blustery sleepy summer sands from its eyes and sheds its summer under alls. Layer by layer like an onion the shards of summer pass through the time piece into darker days, minute by minute.
Back from my walk, the garden gate is open anticipating the dogs to run through and take in a swift sniff of the drying fall grass. The moon, just peeking through and shining its light on the garden shed, while my beloved companions run wildly through the gardens. They are excited about the change of season, the joys of fall and finally a good long walk with their master or mistress in this case in the cool dusk air.
Through the garden shed door, my tools are lined up in satisfying rows, scissors, shovels, and twine all within hands reach and the old porcelain sink filled with dried flowers from fall harvest. Beauty, it truly is in the eye of the beholder. To me this room is the ultimate fantasy – a space of my own for my flowers and friends, for the things that make me smile.
I will utilize every nook and cranny in my brain to revel in the art of missing. Missing the long summer days of tanned skin touched by the sun, the glow of the moon on the ocean, the heavy humid summer breeze filled with jasmine and that unmistakable scent of summer. This is the art of missing.


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