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brigdhWe haven't had much real summer weather here yet; there's been so much rain that it's kept higher temperatures away, or only let them in with insane amounts of humidity, clouds hanging low and dark and the air like steaming wet blanket against skin.
We do today, though. Everything's sunny and really, truly hot, the sort of weather that makes clothes mere decorations instead of necessities. God, I love summer. I spent a few hours in the sun while I read this morning, and everything was perfect: all the shades of green of the grass and the trees, the sun so bright the whole zenith of the sky was white, but lower it faded into a deeper blue, and everything's growing and exploding. It always seems to me like you can feel all that energy and life in the summer, rushing through you just like in the trees and flowers, wanting to dance and sing and just run until it makes the air whistle past your ears, and it's wonderful.
My roommates have turned on the air-conditioning. I don't like AC, but as I realize that most people are not as crazy as me, I'm not going to say anything. Still. In a perfect world, in summer, a house shouldn't have anything electric running, except maybe a computer (always necessary) and a radio, volume low in an inner room. But no lights, no air-conditioning. Instead, throw open all the windows and doors so the only light is dim and reflected, and any breezes are caught and channeled through the rooms.
And a house should have dark wooden floors, smooth and air-warm against bare feet, muffling noise. Let most sounds fade away, leaving just the music of the radio on the edge of hearing, a irregular rattle when the wind blows against a curtain or shutter or windchime, and maybe the low murmur of people laughing in the distance. You'd need a porch too, one of the ones that run around most of the house, made of the same dark wood. It'd have a railing and a roof, so it sits in shade, a boundary between the dimness of the house and the bright glare of outside. I'd get one of those wide swings, or maybe a hammock, some sort of lazy seat to sit in the shade and look out at sunset, and a small table too, to put a book or drink. The house should run right up against a beach, so there'd always be a spray of sand by the doorway, scattered pure white against the caramel brown of the wood, whispering when the wind blows it and gritty underfoot.
Mmmmyes. Who else wants to play Anywhere But Here?
We do today, though. Everything's sunny and really, truly hot, the sort of weather that makes clothes mere decorations instead of necessities. God, I love summer. I spent a few hours in the sun while I read this morning, and everything was perfect: all the shades of green of the grass and the trees, the sun so bright the whole zenith of the sky was white, but lower it faded into a deeper blue, and everything's growing and exploding. It always seems to me like you can feel all that energy and life in the summer, rushing through you just like in the trees and flowers, wanting to dance and sing and just run until it makes the air whistle past your ears, and it's wonderful.
My roommates have turned on the air-conditioning. I don't like AC, but as I realize that most people are not as crazy as me, I'm not going to say anything. Still. In a perfect world, in summer, a house shouldn't have anything electric running, except maybe a computer (always necessary) and a radio, volume low in an inner room. But no lights, no air-conditioning. Instead, throw open all the windows and doors so the only light is dim and reflected, and any breezes are caught and channeled through the rooms.
And a house should have dark wooden floors, smooth and air-warm against bare feet, muffling noise. Let most sounds fade away, leaving just the music of the radio on the edge of hearing, a irregular rattle when the wind blows against a curtain or shutter or windchime, and maybe the low murmur of people laughing in the distance. You'd need a porch too, one of the ones that run around most of the house, made of the same dark wood. It'd have a railing and a roof, so it sits in shade, a boundary between the dimness of the house and the bright glare of outside. I'd get one of those wide swings, or maybe a hammock, some sort of lazy seat to sit in the shade and look out at sunset, and a small table too, to put a book or drink. The house should run right up against a beach, so there'd always be a spray of sand by the doorway, scattered pure white against the caramel brown of the wood, whispering when the wind blows it and gritty underfoot.
Mmmmyes. Who else wants to play Anywhere But Here?
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no subject
Date: 2006-06-02 07:00 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-06-07 03:48 pm (UTC)