Night air like heaven
Weekends like only kids know
Light that never fails
I wore jeans and a long-sleeved shirt when I walked Lola this morning. The skies and the lake were gray again and the air was cool. I realized that observations of weather are an insignificant way of marking the passage of seasons.
As summer settles in and reaches its apex around here with the Fourth of July, I become less interested in the details of its progression. But, in doing so, I believe I become more present and fully live in–if not obsessively appreciate–the moment.
This is the time when the lilies and lupines bloom, when the shy flowers on hostas start to show up. The geese and ducks in the area are all but invisible. They stay in their ponds, the juveniles almost indistinguishable from the adults, all of them feeding and resting.
The asparagus we put on the grill tonight was thick, its time is almost over. The ephemeral Hexes are probably done; Tricos should start to show up in the cool early mornings after hot days. The clouds of insects will writhe 100 feet above trout streams in the beams of first light.
Like any month, June is a transition. Nothing is permanent and we travel through each year via the seasons.
This I celebrate:
Water, memory, sunlight
Ache for it each day