Summertime is when I love to open my eyes to the cool white world that is our bedroom; I love white bedding in the sultry months of July and August. It always feels fresher to slide into white percale sheets and rest my head on an uncreased pillowcase of snowy smoothness. White embroidered cotton lawn nightgowns of whisper fine weight give slumbers filled with gentle dreams. 
The breeze moves the curtains ever so softly and I turn over once or twice more before actually arising. My Best Beloved is out the door and off to work by 7:15 and the house is silent, with only the soft breathing of the dogs and cats, and happy birdsong outside the window to interrupt my reverie. If I'm very still, I can hear the burbling of the waterfall in our fish ponds as it tumbles down across the mossy granite lintels and swirls into the lower pond where the koi and goldfish swim gracefully in the morning cool.Coffee tastes so much better on the front veranda with its vista of our lush front garden, and I relish the privacy afforded by the shrubs and vines we planted which conceal our little sitting area from the street. Baskets of begonias and fuchsia cascade from above my head in the shade there, and hosta, dogwood, Japanese maple, mock orange, magnolia, spirea, Arctic Kiwi vine and butterfly bushes share their myriad greens with me. I take a bite of the freshest raisin bread toast and sigh. A bowl of sliced crimson strawberries is warming slightly in the sun on the teak table. We are trying to eat a quart everyday during this season when they are local and at their delectable freshest.
Summer days just feel timeless, and any work I undertake seems less like effort as the sun beams down and the breezes move the branches of the stately oaks, maples and pines that ring the back yard where we are so fortunate to live, side by side with good neighbours. Even weeding and mowing fill me with a sense of connectedness and care of the earth and of improving the aesthetic, however roughly. Nothing here, you see, is perfectly manicured, pruned and shaped, but rather placed by good luck and hope rather than following any gardening books or manuals to the letter. Bugs and slugs live cheek by jowl with raccoons and birds who will soon ravage the cherry trees for their red bounty, and have already chewed holes in some of Best Beloved's bok choy. The lawn has its share of weeds, but when mowed, it is green and healthy-looking. I can play in my gardens for hours on end and must be reminded to take water breaks and come in for lunch, much as it was, as I remember, playing outside as a child with our mom calling for us. We were pretty hesitant about missing much of our outdoors time for trivial things such as sustenance!
An afternoon nap? Well, that's never amiss either. Other matters can wait while I spread out a quilt under a tree, or curl back up on the rattan loveseat on the veranda with a magazine and pillow. Worries and plans can rest too, I have found. Meals are simple, cold and fresh -- meat or fish have an equal footing with all of the fresh July vegetables coming on now -- bunch carrots, new potatoes, sugar snap peas, Swiss chard, spinach and asparagus abound. Salads and light soups, berries and other easy dishes are put together thoughtfully, garnished with herbs from our own patch, and consumed with mindful gratitude for the earth's bounty. Is there anything better than Nova Scotia farms and gardens for summer's culinary delights?
As always, no matter where I am in this wonderful world, my favorite time of day is late afternoon and early evening as the sun is making its way back down toward the horizon, and the shadows lie long in the fields and forests. Summer days last way into the evening hours, and the world is a golden-hued embrace as the blue of the sky deepens and streaks of mauve, orange and pink appear over the western heavens. Nowhere is this better appreciated than along the Bay of Fundy shore from atop the rocks or on the beach, or from a brightly-coloured Adirondack on a cottage deck as the cool of evening chases away the swelter of the thirty degree day.
Why would anyone rush through any day, let alone a perfect one in summer?
