Did you ever come home from the beach with a pocket full of rocks? Each one was chosen for its colors, or how it glistened. It was hard to stop gathering, and on the way home your shorts hung heavy with rock treasure, banged a little against your leg. At home you emptied your pockets and showed them off one by one, spit-polishing the best so you and your fellow rock-admirers could see them just the way they looked when they first caught your eye. Maybe you dreamed of finding a way to string them together, to wear them gleaming around your throat.
My favorite things so far this summer—every summer—are the unmeasurables, the things that happen on the edges, the moments that are almost always unplanned: laughter in the wave pool, the smell of fresh basil, being in the woods, read-at-the-table lunches, chance conversations, treasure-hunting at the library/at the bookstore/at antique stores, coming around the corner and discovering the latest art project. I’m carrying these things around with me like a pocketful of pretty stones. It’s good to take them out every once in a while and admire the colors and shiny spots, to dream a little about what you could make with them.