Years ago, I reveled in the long days of summer when the sun didn’t set in Michigan until almost ten o’clock. It still doesn’t set until then, but I’m less enamored. Why this change?
I’m not sure, except perhaps it’s due to circumstances. Back then, my children still went to bed at eight o’clock, even with daylight infusing their bedroom windows. And I had a couple hours of daylight to garden, relax on the patio, or chat with neighbors on the front walk. I never felt sleepy before the late evening news.
It’s different now. I can enjoy my garden in the middle of the afternoon without worry. I can have a drink on our patio at 5 PM without children clamoring for attention. I can chat with neighbors anytime we come upon each other.
But that really isn’t it. Rather, I’ve learned to love the shorter days of autumn and winter; it took a while but I cajoled myself with the idea that early sunset meant less attention to the grey globs that cover southwestern Michigan in winter. And I began to look forward to using those evenings for literary benefit.
I think I want shorter evenings here in the dead of June because I love to sit by our faux fireplace and read. It’s harder to read when the sun is high and I chastise myself for not being outdoors.
We’re still shy of the “longest” day of the year by four days. Yet, when it comes I’ll enjoy the longevity of the moment. At the same time, I’ll look forward to winter’s evenings and wonderful books.
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