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Category: seasons

Endangered Evenings

Endangered Evenings

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For the last couple weeks, I’ve been stepping out after dinner to stroll a few blocks as the light fades.

This is a bonus amble, usually after a more serious effort earlier in the day. It’s a wind-down walk, time to take in the night air and watch bats careen through the sky.

One night, a big orange moon hung on the horizon. Another, a post-deluge sunset purpled the sky and diffused the light so there were glimmers from all sorts of unusual corners. 
These late-August rambles are more precious because they’re endangered.  The sun sets earlier, long twilights are on the way out. In yesterday’s newspaper, a short article noted that for the first time in months, the sun would set before 8 p.m. Sunday night.
I walked anyway. And it was lovely. 
Almost Empty

Almost Empty

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It’s the dog days — and I’ll take them. Uncrowded Metro, open roadways, Congress in recess, school out for summer. It’s a lovely pause, one to savor.

Walking back to my car in the warm air,  I passed through the tunnel, dark enough by 6:30 for the lights to be illuminated. From the neighborhood that backs up to Route 66 came the sound of children playing, the voice of summer.  I smiled broadly at a stooped woman in a sari and she smiled and waved in return.

Everything seemed in harmony:  the bushes and trees, the sky and land, the people and place.

The world seemed almost empty, and that was fine with me.

Midsummer

Midsummer

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Days like this seem like they will never end. Up late with an orange moon, up early with a red sun. And in between, seeking shade and the cool interior.

Listening to the insects, their chirps and crescendoes, their cascading calls to one another, all of it music, summer music, an aural expression of freedom and relaxation.

I want to capture midsummer, bottle it, preserve it.  And then, one bitter winter morning, take it out and spritz it on my wrists and behind my ears, wear it like perfume.

Usually Summer

Usually Summer

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The armchair travel of yesterday’s post has an explanation, of course. It’s almost solstice. School’s out for summer.

Once a student and teacher, always one, I guess. Or at least always attached to that kind and gentle calendar, the one that offers summer after a long year of toil.

I know that I live in a fortunate time, one in which I don’t have to work every waking minute, one in which I can expect to have some years off at the end of a long working life.

But to get there requires much shouldering to the grindstone now. Most of the time, the grindstone is cleverly disguised as a mission, a life’s work, But sometimes, it isn’t.

And when it isn’t … it’s usually summer.

Finally Summer

Finally Summer

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Summer arrived yesterday, or maybe it was the day before. It rolled in on clouds of humidity and the sound of frogs croaking in the night. It shimmered in the still afternoon and whispered in the breeze that stirred the new leaves.

Summer always seems to me the normal season, the way things ought to be always. So … things are back to normal now. And they will be for another few months or so.

I wouldn’t want to live where it was always summer.

But I’m glad it finally is summer again.

 

Begin the Day

Begin the Day

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May is unfolding slowly here, with cool nights and days that stay firmly in the 70s. I think that’s about to change soon, so I’m enjoying this cool morning and the bird song I hear as I write this post.

The trees have fully leafed out and the annuals I’ve planted are taking root. In the front yard, the breakout roses have snuck up on me again. (They’re not as full and healthy as the roses here … I wish … but given the shade in which they struggle, at least they’re still alive.) In fact, all is green and growing here, especially the weeds!

Inside, clocks are ticking, Copper is napping (after our walk at 7) and I’m grabbing a few quiet moments of what promises to be a busy one.

Thinking of all the possibilities …

It’s a good way to begin the day.

Welcoming May

Welcoming May

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I’m one day late in welcoming May, my favorite month. It helps that both my sister and I were born in it (though none of my girls, they’re summer/fall babies). It helps that the weather is warming and the summer is coming. And there’s a certain horse race in Kentucky that can usually be counted on to add some pizazz to the month.

When I was a kid, May also meant the end of school. It was almost more excitement than my little heart could take, a birthday and school’s out in one terrific explosion of excitement.

I’m far removed from those rhythms now, but I like to remember them. They remind me of an earlier, slower, more rounded time, when life flowed at a pace resembling sanity.

Now here it is May again … and so soon. But it’s always good to welcome it.

This is dedicated …

This is dedicated …

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A spring walk yesterday took me from ugh-it’s-a-Monday to I’m-glad-to-be-alive.

It was about 65 degrees with a brilliant blue sky and leaves that seemed to have their own power source, so brilliant was the green they were flashing.

Their power source, of course, was the sun, which was flooding the day with light and warmth. My winter-weary bones were soaking it up (through properly applied sunscreen, of course) and my work-weary mind was jetting off in several directions: how beauty sustains, how I wished everyone I love could be in my skin experiencing it with me.

Especially those no longer on this side of the ground, I wanted them to have it, too, to be back long enough to feel warmth on their skin and see a redbud tree in flower. So this walk, like the song says … was dedicated to the ones I love.

Mellow Mueller

Mellow Mueller

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Everyone was talking about it, reading it and tweeting about it, but by the time the Mueller Report finally came out yesterday, I just felt fatigued about it. I imagine many of us did.

I perked up a bit this morning, when the banner-headlined Washington Post landed in my driveway. (As is typical for a newspaper reader, I take my news a day old and more digested, thank you very much.) But on the whole, I’ve been ignoring the media feeding frenzy.

Maybe it’s because I’m distracted by the new leaves on the Rose of Sharon bush, or the carpet of petals underneath the Kwanzan cherry.

Or maybe it’s because I’ve been preoccupied with tech problems lately (email issues, Skype for Business issues, RAM issues, even voice recorder issues!).

But whatever has made me mellow about Mueller, I’m grateful for it.

The Lusty Cherry

The Lusty Cherry

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Frequently writing about nature and the out-of-doors means that I often notice the same things every year. I’ve learned this by now — and have become more careful not to repeat an identical observation. Such was the case today when I thought about the Kwanzan cherry trees.

So I will not call this piece “The Other Cherry,” because I already used that title. But I will say that yesterday a grove of Kwanzan cherries once again stopped me in my tracks.

The trees were waving and petaling and being their lovely selves right in front of my office. I reveled in their peak bloom (and snapped some photos) as I ran out to the post office in the mid-afternoon.

I’m not the only one who appreciated them. Suzanne texted me this morning to say she’d noticed them on a run through my work neighborhood.

Every year I have this internal debate: Which is more lovely, the ethereal Yoshino or the lusty Kwanzan? I’ll never come up with an answer.