I have always felt less intelligent in the summertime. It sounds like such a ridiculous claim, but that is just the way it is. My brain slows down. It only thinks about happy thoughts as if it was just wired like that. I read slower than usual. It takes me forever to construct ideas, or to form my opinions. My feelings seem less intense. I manage to enjoy small things in life in much greater detail.
I am currently reading Andrew Solomon's The Noonday Demon. He starts the book with a stunning quote from Bulgakov:
Everything passes away - suffering, pain, blood, hunger, pestilence. The sword will pass away too, but the stars will still remain when the shadows of our presence and our deeds have vanished from the earth. There is no man who does not know that. Why, then, will we not turn our eyes toward the stars? Why?
I feel like in the summertime, I turn my eyes toward the stars all the time. I look for wonder, for beauty I can't possibly understand. I enjoy seeing and accepting the universe as a well-greased machine. I don't even try to understand what it is all about. I don't feel the urgency of my meaningless existence. I just exist and observe.
Come autumn, my mind will start to revolve more and more around the pettiness and frustration that is so essential to human experience. I look for answers to questions that inhabit my mind, sometimes in an extremely aggressive manner. I look for melancholy, because it keeps me sane. To only gaze into the stars makes one blind to life that we live and breathe every day.
Skirt: Etam; bought it in Nice years ago, and still love it!
Vintage scarf: Tuuli's old