I love long days. I love the lingering twilight, the glowing sky long past bedtime. Coming from more southern latitudes, these long days of summer are more a source of wonderment than they are to the locals, and the locals like them plenty. It seems like only yesterday I was remarking with joy that it was still light at 5 p.m. “Summer’s right around the corner!” I proclaimed to Andrea with joy. We were only a month past the solstice, but in my mind we were crashing into summer at a fantastic rate. fuego confirmed it – on the call sheets for Turkey Pot Pie (also known as Hostel), he included the time of sunrise each day. Throught the heart of shooting sunrise was minutes earlier each day.
Today we reached the top of that ride. It was a beautiful day here in Prague; the sun came out for the big show, reminding us all why we are alive. (We can’t help it.) I walked the city today, Old Town, New Town (new, in this case, being relative), and parts beyond. Now I am back at the little café near home, my little corner just south of the big west-facing window not sheltering me from the glare. Luckily an apartment complex across the street is about to give me some relief, and there are some clouds low on the horizon. Had you asked me three months ago, I would have told you it was impossible for the sun to set behind that building. Good thing you didn’t ask.
So it’s been a glorious day, and it’s not over yet. That’s the point. But just as when I was at the bottom of the curve, in the depths of winter, I felt the upsweep, now I feel the bottom dropping out. Today is the longest day. Tomorrow will be shorter. I feel I should have done more with the day, because there won’t be another one like this for a year. It leads to an odd paradox. When times are bad, the ability to look forward and live for the future is a blessing. That same vision, when things are good, is a curse. To know the future is what it means to be human.