Maggie's Farm

As summer begins to reach an end here in the northern hemisphere, I found myself recently alone on a remote beach in Maine soaking up beneficial solar rays with no clothing and no sunscreen. I pulled a small kayak up on the little island's rocky beach, and exulted in Mr. Sun's reaching sweetly into every crack and pore of my imperfect and slightly-aging multi-gravida but decently-athletic body.  Mr. Sun doesn't discriminate.

I reflected on the pure animal pleasures as only the human kind of animal can reflect. The delight of touch, like the delight of a warm breeze. A gently rocking boat. The heat of the sun on skin, a breeze through your naked pubes. A hug from a friend or kid. A dog licking your hand. Sexual delights, of course. Powerful. The taboo relief pleasures of peeing and pooing. A hot shower that you hate to leave. The thrill of a violent thunderstorm. The tingle of a spoonful of delicious champagne sorbet or fresh raspberry sorbet. The joy of smacking a tennis overhead onto the sneakers of an opponent on a sunny morning. A hot tomato off the vine. The smell of hot trees and flowers. The pleasure of giving in to gravity onto a cozy bed at the end of a day. The fun of walking into cool air conditioning from a sizzling street, and the fun of walking from a car onto a sizzling beach. A chilly glass or two of chardonnay on the lawn at 5 pm.

Mindless, happy-animal, universal pleasures. Controlled hedonisms with no vomitoria or alcohol- and cocaine-fueled orgies. Each season offers its own set of innocent delights, but summertime offers the most.

Carpe diem, because you and I might not be alive next year. Anything can happen. I believe in working hard and long, but not always being a drudge. What's for supper? Grab a beer and make yourselves a turkey sandwich, family. I ain't cooking.

What's your view?