July’s Twilight

by E. Marmer
posted Jul 9, 2023

Yesterday, I was treated to one of July’s lovely, long lasting twilights. I had earlier in the day overseen what I considered some dramatic changes to our garden by a landscaping crew: some pretty ground cover in a once barren area, additional flowers strategically placed in several spotty garden beds, and some new rose bushes and a pink dogwood tree by our little storage shed. In the hours after the men left, I wandered around taking in the colors, the fragrances, the cool grass on my feet and that magical, magical dusk that allows the blue of the sky to deepen and glow in final ambient minutes before gently fading into purplish and indigo shadows.

I am a carnal creature, highly susceptible to my physical environment, as my husband always likes to tease. He named my instant reactivity to external elements my “boat to Venice” response, recalling how, on the public boat from the mainland to Venice, I was so affected by the heat and the crowd, the body odor and fuel exhaust, that I started grumbling and complaining, crabbing about how we shouldn’t have bothered going to Venice if this is what we could expect, completely losing sight of the fact that we were going to Venice, for godssake. Ten minutes later, actually in Venice, I began oohing and aahing, and it was as if the boat ride never happened.

But back to the garden last evening– I was transformed into a bewitiched elf, drugged on loveliness.

Photo by Sudhir Sharma

It’s funny how certain experiences stay with you. I’m not talking about stories that we savor and retell frequently, but about those small moments that live on in your mind because they affected you profoundly without you even knowing at the time that they would be special. For me it seems, a July twilight is a key that opens my memory to some delicious moments.

And so, I recall.

I recall being a young girl living in the Bronx with my family on the 10th floor of a pink brick apartment building, sharing a bedroom with my two older sisters. I went from a crib to a bed in that bedroom. Seven years of togetherness, more for my sisters. By the time we moved from that apartment to a house where we each had our own bedroom, my eldest sister was turning 13 and probably desperately wanted some privacy, but I loved our time in that apartment bedroom.

We all went to bed at the same time. We all wore matching pajamas. We made up games that inevitably involved jumping from bed to bed, a feat made possible by the fact that the beds were only about eighteen inches apart if that. And on summer nights, we all saw the same twilit sky from our two open windows, felt the small, hopeful breeze stirring, and heard the summer sounds from the neighborhood floating up to us.

Photo by Ellie Wilson

And I recall summer nights at the age of 10 or 11, when I was free to wander in the streets of my remarkably safe suburban neighborhood, looking up at the trees dark in their silhouettes against that compelling, cooling, translucent sky. The lights in the neighbors’ houses, and my own, were warm yellow rectangles, jewels strung for my enjoyment, and the steam of the day melted into a hush, full of possibilities. Unhurried, lost in a dream, I drank it all in, beliving I was the sole invitee to a secret ritual and feeling my freedom, until it became too dark and the ritual was over. My mother never once called me in, always knowing I’d return at the right time, like our cat.

Uncredited photo in article by Scott Levine, Stephen Tonkin

I have been so fortunate. Despite heartaches, despite losses, tragedies and chronic stressors. I have been treated to so many wonderful moments, so many lovely, warm July twilights. Last night’s romp in our garden will be among these. I am so very glad that I paid attention.