Summertime Whimsy

It’s summertime.  The world goes spinning on, off kilter.  Over my decades on this planet, it seems that the world has always spun off kilter.  There is good and evil in this world and both push and pull.  I believe good will win out in the end.  I believe in art, education, nature, and the human spirit.  I know these things make life hopeful.  And though, there are many things I can be anxious about right now, I choose joy and laughter.  Summer is here.  I want to face it like I did when I was a young girl, with hope and wild abandon.

It’s my summer vacation, and I know it’s time for me to play.  According to Merriam-Webster, “whimsy” refers to a capricious or eccentric and often sudden idea or turn of the mind.  It is closely related to flights of fancy, daydreams,  and joyful imagination.  It will take me another couple of weeks to fully re-embrace my playful side.  I will slowly sink into enchantment and let my childlike wonder take over again.

I’m thinking back to my childhood days with my first best friend, my cousin Sylvia. We were two curly headed girls – her blonde, me brunette, born six months apart.  I delighted in my summer days with Sylvia by my side.  We’d ride bikes, go to the penny candy story, and swim at the pool together.  Her house had a wide front porch protected by beautiful blue and white hydrangea bushes.  We’d spend hours behind the hydrangea fortress making shelters and tiny feasts for the fairies we knew lived under the porch. I will go back to that time in poetry to express those whimsical summer days with Sylvia by my side.

Summertime Whimsy

Scorching hot July days,
my cousin and I rode our bikes 
around the neighborhood
until we were dripping
with exhaustion.

Then we’d steer ourselves
to her front porch
for shade and shelter.
My aunt would bring us
iced tea with fresh mint.

Once refreshed, we’d spend
the entire afternoon
behind the hydrangea fortress,
blue and white blooms
would hang heavy over us.

We’d sit in the grass
and make homes
for our fairy friends
who lived quietly
under the sloping porch.

We’d gather twigs and reeds,
long Jersey grasses
and create miniature feast
for the friendly fairies
who we could hear singing.

We’d bend down
our curly heads,
smile to each other
because we heard
the same fairy song:

Come near, come here
Fairies dancing all day long
Come here, come near
Only you can hear our song.

Calla -na, Calla-ha
Fae wee fare tra-la-la-la
Calla-ha, Calla-na
Ni feid ach leat amraha.

Then as night approached
we’d lay side-by-side
in the dewy grass,
looking up at the stars
shining just for us.

We’d run around
the house all night
catching fireflies,
eating watermelon,
and laughing, laughing…

until it was time for bed.
Then we’d go to sleep
with a large jar of fireflies
between us, lighting the way,
singing us lullabies.

Calla -na, Calla-ha
Fae wee fare tra-la-la-la
Calla-ha, Calla-na
Ni feid ach leat amraha.
Only you can hear our song.

As I write this post, my dear cousin is in intensive care recovering from brain surgery. This poem was crafted with love and prayers for brighter days ahead. Every word I used was to show Sylvia how much her friendship has meant to me all my life. I hope she can hear the fairies and fight her way through to health this summer and enjoy many more years of whimsy.