Memories of Summer
There’s something sacred about witnessing the sun rise over water, especially in a quiet place like Chilmark. I took this photograph, “Memories of Summer,” during one of those gentle dawns when the world feels like it’s still half-asleep, and yet somehow more alive than ever. The light was honeyed and tender, casting soft gold and peach reflections across the lagoon. The paddleboard rested silently in the grass, its journey paused but not forgotten, like a memory that waits patiently to be revisited. That morning, the colors held everything—tranquility, nostalgia, and promise. I stood there barefoot, breathing it all in, letting the hush of water and sky remind me that we are always somewhere between stillness and movement, endings and beginnings.
To me, the kayak—or in this case, the paddleboard—represents more than recreation. It’s a vessel for both escape and return. It speaks to the soul’s desire to drift toward healing, toward solitude, or maybe toward something unnamed. Watching the reflection of the sky ripple gently in the lagoon, I felt the weight of summer’s slow goodbye. Sunsets (or sunrises, when they echo like this) are liminal spaces—rich with both sorrow and possibility. They remind us that while something is always ending, something else, equally tender and alive, is just about to begin. This photo holds that paradox: the stillness before motion, the gold before blue, the memory before it fades.
Memories of Summer by Ocean Eversley
I.
The sky opened slow—
a light of gold spilled across
the waiting lagoon.
Everything shimmered,
as if the world itself
was quietly waking
from a dream of warmth.
II.
The paddleboard leaned
like a memory left behind—
gentle, grounded,
but shaped for flight.
Its silence spoke
of places it’s touched,
and waters it remembers.
III.
The sun reached out,
fingertips brushing the surface,
turning water into sky.
Reflections stretched long,
mirroring hope,
as if light could write
its own kind of poem.
IV.
Vines tangled nearby,
wild and unconcerned.
Yellow flowers nodded,
half-asleep still,
drunk on dew
and the promise
of one more summer day.
V.
To float is to trust—
to believe the current
knows something we don’t.
Each stroke of a paddle
a small surrender
to whatever comes next—
to wherever we are meant to go.
VI.
The sun is always both
arrival and farewell.
It changes everything
without asking.
It reminds us—
what fades
also returns.
VII.
I stood there alone,
but not lonely.
Held by the tranquility,
by the gold,
by the quiet certainty
that summer is never really gone—
just waiting in the light.
Memories of Summer: Chilmark is available for purchase. Collect it today!