Nostalgic for the sun

August brought storms that split trees and sunlight that healed me. Its taken me a bit longer to write this because summer is ending in NY and I am savoring every bit I can, which means time away from any type of digital screen. Nostrand avenue is filled with smoke wafting from grills and you can smell the jerk chicken from a block away. A man crosses the street in air force ones so white they blind, a family kicks back on the sidewalk, a string of flags representing Caribbean islands flutters above them. Summer is winding down and Brooklyn milking it ‘til the last drop. I bike to the beach and stay a while. I direct my first production in this new pandemic reality. I decompress. I dress up and eat watermelon and meet friends on their rooftops for a movie night, a dance, a taste of the cool night breeze, a chance to watch the sunset above the skyline. We claim any bit of respite we can.

REFLECTION
Access to healthy, thriving abundant nature is what has consistently given me life these last few months ( and life in general tbh ) I've been held together by the grounding quality of each full moon, the wonder of vivid landscape, the majesty of forest canopy, the comfort of sunshine, the silk of clear waters. Last month I realized how much of my existence has been tied to my understanding of sunshine as home. Growing up in Florida, childhood joy was an entire afternoon spent playing running through water rainbows from the fan sprinkler attached to our back yard garden hose. Between the sprinkler and the pool, I passed the hours frolicking in my glorious imaginary play world until my fingers were water pruned and mommy was all hands on hips and firm voice. It was time to come inside. Sunshine, water and time was all I needed then. Its all I crave now.

Now I get anxious about my limited access to sunshine and fresh air. I plan my days around the sunshine, literally. If I happen to be deep in computer work when the sun is shining I feel sad then regret not having planned my day better. I rearrange my calendar to make time to jog amongst the trees. Small red freckles have begun to sprout on the oak leaves, a signal of autumn's near arrival. I run harder to feel the air fill my lungs, a reminder that I am alive, breathing, trying, well. I am crafting my life around nature's lead; waking early to see the sunrise, cherishing the moments I get to see the moon rise, paying attention to the natural ebb and flow of each day.

RESPONSIBILITY

I was a middle schooler when I went to the Florida Keys for the first time on a field trip and had the opportunity to snorkel amongst coral reefs. Our guide warned us not to touch the already threatened coral but we were kids learning how to swim with fins - of course we crashed into the reefs and left our mark. Why were we allowed so close to such fragile ecosystems? I remember one afternoon my high school science teacher casually told our class that parts of our city of Miami, Florida would be under sea-level in our lifetime. I looked around the room to see who else was shocked but only saw disinterested faces. Lifetime seemed so grand we were just trying to make it to junior year cooldom. My teacher returned to the textbook and went on to a new subject.