About Me
- Kathryn McIvor
- My name is Kathryn Elizabeth Megan McIvor. I'm looking forward to exploring a new season in the next year of my life, and hopefully discerning more fully who I am, who God is, and what that means for day to day life.
Tuesday, March 6, 2012
Images: Summer
The rough weave of the "Mexico Blanket," as it has lovingly been dubbed, rubs against my skin. I'm sure I'll have funny indentations on my knees and elbows later from laying here. My left foot lays carelessly off the blanket, in the soft grass of the well-cared for lawn I've captured for the afternoon. I love the feeling of grass; I hate the feeling of insects. Maybe it's not laying there so carelessly after all, but in reality ready to shake itself free of anything claiming the prerogative to explore my toes without my express permission. The soccer shorts and loose tank top I am wearing make any position I can find comfortable; it's my shoulders, and their inherent tension that makes it difficult to relax reading a book while on my stomach this lazy summer afternoon. But I soldier on, determined to add some color to my back and shoulders this afternoon while the sun is still behind me. I would say my legs too, but since I graduated from high school and stopped playing tennis, there's pretty much no hope for them. Eventually I give up, the pain in my shoulders distracting me from even the most fascinating of words and stories. I roll over, flopping one arm over my eyes to block out the bright sun (as a glasses wearer, sunglasses and I are not good friends). That's when it hits me: summer is better felt than seen. The brightness of the sun (even when not facing it directly) makes it almost impossible to really experience the things around you. It's the musty smell of that blanket, the feeling of grass between my toes, the tickling sensation as sweat gathers in my arm-pits and knee-pits and trickles between my shoulder blades. It's the feeling of sun-warmed skin, ice cold water pouring down your throat, the sounds of summer mornings, afternoons, and evenings, so diverse and yet connected. I lay there, letting myself just breathe for five minutes, instead of constantly distracting myself with a book or song or movie or some other task. This is what it feels like to be safely suspended from reality and simultaneously present in an altogether holy way.
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