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A BOTTLE OF SUMMER
By Marissa Saltzman
Summer resides in a bottle on my dresser-top. A small, unobtrusive,
saltwater-filled bottle, barely the size of my fist—packed full of memories
and cheer.
We stood on the beach the last night, eight yearning faces looking out over
the darkened sea and desperately trying to freeze time or at least ingrain
the moment in our minds. Eight yearning faces, so contented with life at the
present that no one could fully fathom why we were allowing ourselves to be
yanked from this Eden; why we didn’t hide beside the rocks or beneath the
forest trees and deny that summer had to end. Eight yearning faces that had
tasted the joys of freedom and contentedness and now had to migrate back
into the confines of routine life.
Fifty more weeks. Fifty more weeks until we would all return and call
ourselves one big family again. Fifty more weeks until we could spend every
moment on the rocky beach—soaking up the sun or fog and listening to the
salty waves pound against the shore. Fifty more weeks until our group of
friends could sit together from dawn to dusk and chat about any topic that
came our way or just sit quietly and enjoy our silence.
A lot could happen in fifty weeks. People could change, whether they wanted
to or not. What guarantee was there that we could ever be the same again?
That we would not grow up and grow apart when we went home for the
year—after all, all experiences change people, whether we want them to or
not. How horrible it would be to come back next year as strangers, less at
ease in each other’s company and too consumed by our lives to fully enjoy
every moment of summer.
Summer resides in a bottle on my dresser-top. I sit motionlessly on my bed.
Noise outside my dorm room overwhelms my thoughts—three students yell from
different rooms, and someone on the third floor has music blaring. The
heating pipes clang loudly, and someone else feels compelled to slam a door
over and over. The dim lamp casts eerie shadows over my tired room. I hold
my hands over my ears and stare intently at the bottle on my dresser-top,
desperate for some of the tranquil summer air and cool ocean water to wash
over my weary mind and provide a respite from the incessant din.
How refreshing it would be to climb inside that tiny bottle and drift back
into the realm of summer, even just for a few moments. To be surrounded by
the cool summer breezes and the acres of rambling fields. To have the ocean
comfortingly close, always in sight no matter where I go. To have time to
reflect, to think quietly, unhurried by the constant demand for papers and
projects, internship applications and plans for the future. To have the
threat of the “real world” held off for a while by friends and laughter.
Eight yearning faces stood on the silent beach and had wordlessly filled
bottles with saltwater, Maine air, and smiles. Eight small bottles were
packed carefully away in suitcases and traveled various distances until they
reached homes, spanning the country. Eight small bottles were settled on
dresser-tops, bookshelves and desks, where they would be unobtrusive, yet an
integral part of the room. Eight small bottles, destined to spend fifty
weeks isolated from their friends but united by memories.
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2008 Wolf Moon Desk Calendar
We are pleased to announce that we have put together another snappy desk calendar
featuring work by Maine photographer Clif Graves.
5 1/2" x 5"
2008 Wolf Moon Calendar just
$10.00 each
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Some of the fine
stores
where you can find
Wolf Moon JOURNAL
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Wolf Moon
Photo Note Cards
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