There's a push, every summer, towards....something. The whole summer has its own direction - projects, personnel, critical mass.
But every summer I notice this very subtle point. The summer isn't over - there's still loads to do - but somehow things seem less breathless.
(It's a dangerous point, because we all seem to hit it at the same time...and that means that small things that we'd usually be on top of go skittering under the couch, to be found when they're least convenient.)
Somehow, the gauntlet of the last several weeks has been crossed. completed. conquered.
I can finally get out of my head enough to notice the amazing color of the sky when I walk the dog in the evenings. I spent a luxurious half-hour in the rehearsal room, listening to an aria that I've heard a MILLION times take on a new, shimmery glow.
(Granted, I spent half the day apologizing for snapping at people and spilling diet cokes and unsnarling stupid last-minute issues.)
I'm a big fan of gray areas, and somehow I think this qualifies...cheers to late summer, to heavy humid evenings, to aha moments in rehearsals, to the cementing of young relationships. Yay for summer camp - regardless of age!