It’s Labor Day in North America, and the unofficial end of summer. In the Northern Hemisphere it’s a day for getting outside, grilling, and generally appreciating the beauty of the season. That’s what Mr Man and I have been doing this weekend.
There is a certain mood that reminds me of summer’s essence that can best be summarized as: the feeling of happiness and goodwill toward humanity that one gets after a strawberry milkshake on a hot day.
Sure, a lot of that is the sugar rush, but I’ll take it.
We also had the good fortune of waking yesterday to an odd sound, as if someone were dragging a heavy cardboard box down the street in short, intermittent bursts. I didn’t think much of it until I was brushing my teeth and was astonished to find my reflection wreathed in hot air balloons. We’d woken to a balloon festival, and the sounds were pilots burning gas to keep their craft above the trees. Many were high, crossing the river from Quebec with room to spare, but just as many flew by at what felt like close enough to touch.
Mr Man and I ran to the driveway to wave as they passed, and were waved at in return.
Both the milkshake and balloon experiences produced the sort of delighted state that I love, contentment, surprise and joy all wrapped into one.
Delicious happiness.
Here’s to feeling more of that, no matter what the season.
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