I don’t typically write in the evenings.   Usually after dinner it is all about bed time routine.  Once the battle of toothbrushing, bathroom and books is done , it’s usually a focus on clean-up, dishes and prepping for the morning, Once the sun goes down, which isn’t long after, it’s usually a matter of me drifting off in front of a 23-minute attempt at a watching movie, followed by the drudge upstairs to tuck myself if.  In other words – usually by his time, I’m asleep.

Tonight, however, there is that feeling in the air – the one that invites you to take in the evening because, well, I don’t know exactly why.  It’s the type of Summer evening where the sky hangs on tightly to whatever light it can, the bats dive and whirl for their breakfast, their is a slight humid quality, though it is not sticky, and somewhere, probably not far from here, someone is playing The Hip around a campfire.  It’s the kind of evening in which I thought: instead of falling asleep in front of the TV, why don’t I fall asleep in front of my computer instead?

I relish these moments in Summer; the times where things slow down and the Earth sits still while it waits for another chance to make a difference. Sure the bugs are out, there are obnoxious motorcyclists showing off to nobody nearby (yes, I have opinions about motorcycles…), and I am likely ignoring tonight what I will discover is.a sunburn tomorrow, but it’s also all at once peaceful.  As I write this in the midst of the stars beginning to poke through the curtain of night, reminding us that we are smaller than we might think, I can’t help but reminisce of other nights in my life where I felt this particular way.  It may sound strange to say or think, but as I let the humidity of a July-night air wash over me, there are, indeed, very specific moments that come to mind.

I remember the quarry set deep behind the church on Trafalger Road when I was in high school – a locale my friends and I, shortly after acquiring our driver’s license, would set off to, equipped with innocence, fireworks, and what I swear were the best of intentions.   I recall looking up at the moon in Algonquin park, standing next to Colin, wondering what else might likely be out there and then pausing in the type of silence you can’t find anywhere else world; standing next to a friend who has moved me to want to do things like that more often and who has inspired me over the years to sit in the moment, rather than simply move through it.  I have recollections of sneaking out of my childhood bedroom window, jumping from the roof and riding my bike down to The Mill Pond to sit and gaze over the water, appreciating aspects you can’t get find during the day.  I see my 10-year old self playing manhunt around the neighbourhood, far later that we should have been playing manhunt, back in an age when that was actually still ok – or at least in the absence of cell phones there was no way anyone could get a old of us to say it wasn’t.  I remember seeing Batman at the drive-in, camping in the backyard with my brother, watching the sunset in Maine, playing baseball at Rotary Park, sitting on a rock wall in Brookeville, watching Herbie The Love Bug on an outdoor projector.  Each of those moments had the same smell, feel and hold as tonight, and the longer I sit here, the more that seems to be coming back.

I don’t know or claim to understand all of the mysteries this world holds, and so I can’t say for certain if the wind is capable of holding onto memories, but on evenings such as this – evenings where events that occurred perhaps decades ago pop into my head for the first time since they actually occurred, well, I guess I just wonder how this all comes together.  In equal parts to my reflections, it is an evening and an air like this which causes me get curious about the future.  Not curious so much about where I will be or what I’ll be doing, but curious about how I can ensure that days like this can still keep happening.  Days in which I spent most of the afternoon hanging out with my daughter playing board games, making cinnamon buns, Geo-caching, eating popsicles, watching a movie and then tucking her into bed.  The stillness of tonight has allowed me to appreciate what those seemingly simple things stand for, but also understand how fleeting they can be.  What adventures lay ahead for us 1, 5, 10, 20 years down the road?  What new thoughts will I have to think back on when I’m 70?

There are times when I post or write with intention; be it a story or anecdote, a poem or rhyme, a recipe or recommendation…  I’m not entirely sure where this particularly entry fits into any of that, but I do hope the practice of exorcising these thoughts will help me to appreciate the rarity of an evening like this even more.

Also, and not to cut this short, but I guess it really is strange that I’d be sitting out here so late, because I just watched in through the living room window as my wife went ahead and turned out the patio lights, locked the door, and turned around to go to bed, leaving me out here, stranded and alone, trying to figure out what to do.  My cell phone is inside and I can’t ring the doorbell for fear of waking the kids.  Huh.  I wonder where this memory will fit in down the road?