"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance."
I love summer! It sends my heart soaring with nostalgia as it reminds me of past adventures with my McMan. We first met while working the same summer job...THIRTEEN years ago! Eventually, we went our separate ways (for four years) and lost track of each other, only to be reunited one summer by a mutual acquaintance. We hung out as pals (*insert heavy-hearted sigh*) and enjoyed various summertime activities and get-togethers--baseball games, BBQs, and late night movies--with a great group of our friends. We had a lot of fun that summer.
We were still spending time with each other the next summer, but in very different ways. (Stop reading, Dad.) James would drive his old, white, Chevy Blazer to the base of the mountain behind his parents' home. He'd drive until the smooth, paved road turned to gravel, and until the gravel came to a complete dead end. He'd turn the Blazer around so we were facing the valley below us. It was usually nighttime. (Ah, summer nights in Cache Valley are heaven sent!) From our high vantage point, we could see all the stoplights in the distance--tiny and bright, like a strand of Christmas tree lights--and we'd watch them change from green to yellow to red. James and I would listen to Coldplay's "Parachutes" album and smooch like fools in that Blazer on the mountain. We made-out a lot that summer. We said, "I love you," that summer. We got scared of what the Future held for us--like an ominous stranger standing before us, waiting to reveal what his cupped hands kept hidden. We grew in faith that summer. We got engaged that summer. We prayed a lot.
And finally, we were married that wonderful, wonderful summer. Eight summers ago.
Summer is for lovers.
Summer is for me and James.