Summer in Canada is short. Everyone feels the pressure to fit a whole year’s worth of vacationing into a handful of warm weeks. People rush to make memories, even at the expense of resting. Days fill with plans, outings, obligations, and the quiet expectation that we should be doing something memorable at all times.
In all that rushing, it becomes easy to set the craft aside. Not because we stop caring, but because we get swept into a pace that leaves no room for connection. The kind of busy that gets things done, but at what cost?
When I drift from my practice in summer, the first sign is exhaustion. Not the good kind that comes from meaningful work, but the thin, brittle kind that comes from too much motion and not enough presence. The craft takes effort, yes, but it also restores. Being too busy for the craft usually means being too busy for myself.
And yet, summer is also the season when nature is singing the loudest. Reconnection doesn’t require a ritual. Sometimes it’s as small as breathing in the warm air and catching the scent of green things. Hopefully not wildfire smoke. Just the honest smell of life.
When I breathe that air, something shifts. I feel calmer. More alert. More connected. I remember that life is more than existence. The body remembers it is alive, not just operating.
Nature responds to that shift. The insects hum their steady chorus. Then, suddenly, a crow calls. A sharp interruption. A message carried on behalf of the Morrigan. She says, “I am here, even when you are too distracted to see me. I watch what matters as you toil in the mundane.”
In that moment, all of me feels seen. Not judged. Just witnessed. And I am reminded of what life is supposed to be.
Something in my craft stirs. The part that says, “connect with nature, the wheel of the year never stops, and the bounty of life will wither and die all too soon. Don’t let it die in vain.”
So I stop. I smell. I listen. I breathe. I feel the air. That is the first step back. Not a spell. Not a ritual. Just a pause that lets the world touch me again.
And the truth that settles in my chest is simple. Summer is busy. It is short. It is not to be wasted. But connecting is not wasting. It is how summer is honoured.
A Summer Blessing
May the warm air remind you that you are alive.
May the green world call you back to yourself. May the insects sing you into presence.
May the crow interrupt you at the exact moment you need to hear her voice.
May your craft return gently, without pressure or guilt.
May every small moment of connection be a blessing on your season.
And may nothing beautiful die unnoticed.
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