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I planted flowers last weekend. I mowed grass and raked last year’s soggy leaves and I loved every hot, sweaty minute of it. A whole Saturday spent outside, in the dirt.

Thing is, I love the beginning of the summer. I’ve got all kinds of energy and ambition and excitement when the green of the budding leaves is sweet and new and the dandelions haven’t yet gone to seed and the scent of spring lilac floats on fresh evening breezes.

Nothing about the season annoys me yet, because it’s all so newly beautiful and welcome.

A season newborn in sweetness, and who doesn’t love a brand new baby?

Tending is easy in the spring. Mid summer, though, when it’s hot and grasshoppers cannonball themselves around and the grass has faded and the weeds are creeping into my driveway and the house doesn’t cool off at night… then tending becomes more like plain old, unpoetic work.

One of my goals this summer is to tend my way through it. To attend, if you like, to the loveliness around me, even when it loses some of its fresh beauty. To enjoy the mellowing of the season, and the children and the tasks and the growing, as the days in and out themselves.

I intend to enjoy this summer. I hope you do, too.

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