I think my soul is sunburnt

It might be rewarding to say only that much and make you all guess what on earth I mean. I'll eliminate a few possibilities for you. My nose is not pink, and I haven't even had much time outside since Sunday. Even when I was in New Mexico with R., I didn't spend nearly as much time outside as we often do. No aloe necessary this summer. Sunburnt is just the best word I could think of for that dry, exhausted feeling.

Have you ever spent all day out on a lake with no sunglasses? You get that pleasant feeling of well-baked weariness. Your eyes are tired, your skin is dry (and possibly burnt, depending on your complexion), your arms may be sore from rowing. You may have some new mosquito bites on your legs. And you go to the screened-in porch for supper, as a slow hunger creeps up on you. You watch the sun set, the fireflies come out. You hear the whippoorwill. The bats begin their eerie, silent dance. You want to go to bed, but you don't want to go to that much trouble. You feel supremely content.

This summer has been something else so far, no doubt about that. My inside is feeling like my outside spent the day on the lake. Happy, worn, and perhaps a little lethargic. Once again, my adventures fall into the category of not-to-be-blogged; you'll have to wait for the book. Really, there aren't that many specifics to tell -- like being on the lake, you just have to be there. I guess I've been absorbing a lot, rather like sunshine. Perhaps it's a good thing that I'm back at work for a small dose of reality before finishing out the Silverleaf season. I wouldn't want to end up with sunstroke, after all.