It’s raining this morning. Not a quick summer thunderstorm, but a steady, autumn-like rain that reminds me summer won’t last forever. In spite of the heat and dryness, I’m in no hurry for the season to end. On days I’m at home I try to spend as much time as possible outside.

That’s not hard to do, given that our backyard has several “rooms”: the deck, the hammock, the trampoline, the garden, and (when we’re set up for it) the fire pit. Each one with its separate functions and moods. The deck is where we hang out most, eating dinner or breakfast at the table under the pergola. It stays shady most of the day and is where I worked for several hours yesterday with Sid and Dominique beside me, taking in the air.

The garden is more a viewing spot than a sitting spot. But if you’re weeding or planting you might spend an hour there happily occupied.

The hammock and the trampoline are the rooms I’ve used the most this summer. Nothing decompresses better than a half hour on the tramp, music in the ear, sun lowering in the sky, striking gold on the trunks of the trees, all of this viewed with a grateful blurring that comes from movement.

And when I’m too tired to bounce anymore I can flop in the hammock with a good book or the Sunday paper.

The fire pit is for those congenial evenings when one or two of the girls are at home. The flames create unfamiliar shadows and transform our ordinary yard into a place of mystery and awe. Which it is, to some extent, all the time.