Knowledgeman

The key to summer is getting out of the city. I suppose my advice presumes your urbanity. If you can see the stars at night, you are well positioned for summer. Lucky you.

In The Maytrees, Annie Dillard wrote about “days swollen with time.”  The Maytrees lived in Provincetown, and also in a beach shack away from town, up in the dunes.

I read The Maytrees on our faded green couch, and on the bed up in the loft, over several afternoons one summer in Point Reyes. Halfway through, I started reading it aloud to Denise. I didn’t start over at the beginning.

Summer days seem longer away from the city. Perhaps that’s because I cleave them with a nap, which yields two shorter days. One to savor now, the other for later.

Once you have bisected your days, effectively doubling the length of your summer, you can then decide whether or not to fill them. If you decide to fill a summer day, you should only use one ingredient at a time. A hike. A lunch. A book. A swim. A walk to the meadow. The secret to swelling your days with time is not to burst them, like an overripe berry, but to fill them right to the edge, and then stop.