I feel like everything has taken on a sort of enchantment.  I set out my blankets and snacks and lantern and couldn't quite believe it was real.  I've tried every year to have a wonderful viewing party for the Perseids.  It usually ends with me sitting alone someplace, staring at a half-cloudy sky.  Somehow, this year it happened.  So easily and comfortably too.  All the sudden it was dusk, the car was packed, and we were driving through the mountains - heading East for a few hours just to see the stars from a better angle in our tiny world.  We were like the Little Prince, moving our chairs to watch the sun set once more and the stars come out in a quieter land.  It was real life.  I was laying under stars, listening to a story, counting fires in the skies.  Sipping whiskey with my heart's friend.

And meanwhile, I knew others were doing similarly.  They were in big houses by the beach, laughing and eating and enjoying a hot summer eve.  They were telling stories and making stories.  And when I'd read them later, I'd read them all with that same odd feeling of enchantment.  Summer has a way of doing that.  Especially the last days of summer, when you begin to realize that it's all about to disappear.  And here in Seattle the magic is all the stronger.   It's a friend who's only just arrived, and already you are dreading the day they pack it all away and drive across the East. 

How summer does this to me each year, I don't know.  Just as I've committed to giving up, it silently lays itself out all around me and leaves me a in a quiet mood of contentment.  It makes me fall in love with my life, with my city, with my dreams.  It makes me fall in love with itself.  Summer, you are a terrifying Enchantress.  And I dread the day you'll wave your hand and disappear again.  But in the meantime, I love you, because you make me feel every minute.