The longest day of the year starts like many others, Warmth, wind, light through the window.
Mind quiet, there's one image from a dream. One tree rooting, spreading, rippling in a half grown field. You must tend that field
Because it’s summer.
Solstice, not spring and fall equinox, bookends for the growing season. Not the fallow darkness of winter. Summer, the middle months where the year’s threads weave together, still taking shape. The place where imagination has taken you, but not yet left you. The summer when there is light and warmth and life is a petri dish for productivity.
Monica lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband and two foster dogs. She taught parents how to raise their toddlers for twenty-five years before retiring in 2015 to write. The secret to toddlers is to make sure you get enough sleep. Monica hasn't found the secret to writing, yet, but is diligently working at it. See links to her on-line stories on the publications page.
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Monica's Monday Morning Flash 