Browsed by
Category: seasons

Late August

Late August

Comments 0 Comment

It’s warm and slightly muggy today but the cicadas are quiet, the children are, too. It’s the first day of school in Fairfax County.

It’s early this year. When our children were young, they never went back until the day after Labor Day, which meant that this last week of August was the one when we’d  buy school supplies, learn about teachers and schedules, take one last trip to the pool.

It’s a desultory time, summer’s last gasp. The zinnias are leggy, the mint has bolted, and brown leaves are sifting down from the dying oak. 

How can summer be ending? There must be some mistake!

Long-Day Season

Long-Day Season

Comments 0 Comment

The headline caught my eye just in time to save the page of newsprint from becoming part of the fire-starting equipment last week at the late.  “Darkness creeping in as long-day season ends,” it said. 

Apparently Saturday, August 6 was the last day we’ll have 14 hours of sunlight until May 2023. It was the end of what the article called the “brightness quarter,” the 90 or so days of “solar beneficence and dazzle” we receive every May, June and July. 

It’s also the end of long twilights and drawn-out dawns, of slower living made possible by humid air and looser schedules. You might even say it’s the end of that feeling of limitlessness and possibility that summer brings. 

But that would be a gloomy thing to write on a spectacular late-summer morning, not in keeping with the bountiful daylight we still enjoy. 

A Scorcher Begins

A Scorcher Begins

Comments 0 Comment

I’m just back from a walk through the rapidly warming morning. It isn’t a scorcher yet, but it has every intention of becoming one. Checking the forecast now: ah yes, a high of 96. That’s why I met so many dog-walkers and early runners. 

There’s a feel to the air in a morning that’s moving toward high temps but has not achieved them. It’s the last vestiges of cool lingering in the shadows and the dips in the road. It’s the cicadas gearing up for a raucous recital. 

It’s the summer, full bore, and those of us who don’t mind the heat, who thrive on the long light, are reveling in it. 

Camp Reston

Camp Reston

Comments 0 Comment

On a walk my first day back I marveled at the transformation. When I left for vacation, school was still in session and early heat was still battling spring chill. But now it is full-on summer. 

On the lake, fishermen wait patiently for a nibble. Children cavort on canoes and paddle boards. Sunbathers turn their towels toward the sun. Shade is deep and wide; the walker seeks it when she can. 

The place I live no longer feels like a suburb. It feels like a camp. 

May Chauvinist

May Chauvinist

Comments 0 Comment

I know I’m a May (as opposed  to male) chauvinist, but really, what’s not to like about this month?

The climbing rose is blooming its heart out. The Big Heat is just getting warmed up (though it’s early this year, will be 95 here today). And the air is scented with honeysuckle flower.

Schools are letting out, vacations are beginning, days are long and languid. 

I’m grateful to be embarking upon another trip around the sun today. I just snuck into May … but I’m glad I did. 

The Rhododendrons

The Rhododendrons

Comments 0 Comment

Every year is some plant’s year to shine. Last year the redbuds stole the show. Or at least the ones I saw were resplendent in their budding show of strength, their pinks and purples peeking out from amidst sprays of dogwood white.

This year, it’s the rhododendrons’ turn to shine. Whether it’s just that I’m noticing them more or that certain meteorological conditions are favoring them I’ll never understand, inexpert gardener that I am. 

All I know is that our own specimen aside (and it has its hands full thriving in the midst of a bamboo patch), other area plants are standing up to rain and wind and alternate blasts of warmth and cold. They are sending us big-fisted flowers that remind us, as do their compatriots, of how much we need spring. 

(I cheated a bit with the photo: it’s from last year’s May trip to Seattle. I know of no Virginia plants that look like this.)

Calm after the Storm

Calm after the Storm

Comments 0 Comment

We were pelted overnight by some much-needed rain. I could hear it beating the earth, could imagine it puddling on the driveway and in the low spots of the front yard. 

This morning the world looks fresh and clean. The azaleas are greening, shedding their brilliant jewel-toned flowers and becoming the sedate shrubs they are for most of the year. 

It’s a quiet, still day so far, the calm after the storm. Which at this point is … most welcome. 

Out There

Out There

Comments 0 Comment

I spent almost every minute Sunday outside: reading on the deck, bouncing on the trampoline, weeding in the yard, swinging on the hammock. 

It seemed the best way to honor the day, to be in it as much as possible. Because in this place, in this clime, spring is the season. 

Now I’m back at my desk, finishing up work for class tonight, trying to channel any intellectual energy I have to the difficult task at hand. Deconstructionism: there’s a reason why the prof saved it for last. 

But my heart is out there with the wood poppies and the lilacs, with the azaleas and the begonias, resplendent and dear. 

Earth Day

Earth Day

Comments 0 Comment

How wise were the Earth Day founders to honor our “other mother” on this day, in this season (at least for those of us in the northern hemisphere). 

For who can ignore the earth on a day like this: just warming, just greening, filled with eye-popping color.

With tender shoots and delicate blossoms.

Still far too many of us, I’m afraid.

Trail Talk

Trail Talk

Comments 0 Comment

Walkers usually keep to themselves. We’re an introverted bunch. But yesterday was different. 

“Can you believe this day?” a woman said to me as she came closer, gesturing to the blue sky, her arms raised as if I were a long-lost friend. 

I thought for a moment we might know each other, so enthusiastic was her greeting. But no, she was just a fellow traveler, her tongue loosened by the endorphins or the trail or the fact that we were both alive and well on a glorious spring morning.