You Know It's Summer When

The plan to tidy up the house
takes a backseat to hitting the farmers market where
gender ambiguity is the norm and
bare-assed hippie children run next to
the near-by quasi creek while
their parents chat with blue bottle coffee connoisseurs who
(guessing by the pace of their speech)
don't seem to notice the 40-person line now
wrapping around the pathways created by booths of
local farmers trying to co-exist and maintain in a world
of Safeways and Walmarts.
Instead of shaking your head in annoyance
while muttering "how typically
bay area" under your breath,
the amalgam of do-gooder madness
actually makes you smile and say
"at least someone is trying."

The plan to return the video he rented too long ago
takes a backseat to reading novels, and
exchanging quotes from those novels outloud across
the dining room table because good writing is good writing,
and (my god!) this author makes miracles happen with her ability
to simulate the ridiculous and profound on paper.
Heirloom tomatoes, almonds and iced-coffee also pass between us
after hours of sex and sympathies exchanged on couch cushions.

A sermon about rest actually resonates
in this space and time newly created by
the fulfilling of requirements,
the quieting of academic hustle,
the intentional decision not to pencil-in
every single blank space on that calendar.
A sermon about rest actually resonates.