Sousa!

Sousa!

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There was a time when I played John Phillip Sousa music as we took down the Christmas tree. It was cheerful and made that seasonal task less melancholy than it would have been. 

But I hadn’t listened to Sousa marches in a while, winter or summer, until day before yesterday. Looking for suitable accompaniment to my Independence Day walk, I streamed a recording of Stars and Stripes Forever, the Washington Post March, Liberty Bell, Thunderer and many others. 

They certainly put a skip in my step, which would otherwise have been lagging due to heat and humidity.

It was a 45-minute trip to the turn of the century, not the last turn, the one before that. I imagined unicycles and bunting and girls with pigtails, all made possible by America’s March King. 

Today I repeated the experience. It felt just as fine. 

(Military observance at Sousa’s grave. Courtesy Wikipedia)

Giving Green a Chance

Giving Green a Chance

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Yesterday amidst the cooking and prepping for the evening’s festivities, the clouds were building, the air becoming even stickier, though that seemed impossible.

There have been so many times this summer when this had happened, but to no avail. Yesterday afternoon was different, though.

By evening an inch and a half of rain had fallen, soaking the ground, tamping down dust, freshening up the ferns, giving green a chance. 

It needs it. 

(A tracery of shadows on a past lawn.)

An Appetizer

An Appetizer

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You’d think I would know what it was, but when I heard the pop last night in the car, my first thought was that it was coming from the radio. 

Instead, it was coming from the fireworks that were exploding off to my left, filling the night sky with light as I drove north toward home. 

I could only catch glimpses of the display, but they were a perfect appetizer for tonight’s full-course meal.

Night Light

Night Light

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Watching the light fade last night, I see leaves grow indistinct, dark masses without color. 

Searching for bats, I see blurred forms cut through the darkness, visible only when they cross a patch of still-blue sky.

As sunlight vanishes, fireflies rouse themselves from the ground, blink and twinkle as they flutter their way to the treetops.

Closer to where I’m sitting, the deck lights snap to attention. They’ve been storing sunlight all day and now release it.

Two types of night light on an early July evening. 

A Facelift

A Facelift

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A library becomes a sanctuary, its shelves and kiosks like the rooms and closets of home, familiar and well-worn.

Sometimes, worn enough to need a facelift, which is what’s happening at my library now.

The Reston Regional branch of the Fairfax County Library system shut down on Saturday. But I couldn’t let it close without a final look. 

I was there on Friday, wandering through the stacks, checking out a book, glimpsing the old place one more time before it’s transformed. 

Alive on the Page

Alive on the Page

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I’ve been reading Oliver Sacks’ Everything in its Place: First Loves and Last Tales, a posthumous collection of essays by a master of that form. That he was a master of so much else — neurology, weightlifting, chemistry — ripples out from every page.

Sacks loved to swim, to walk in botanical gardens, to study ferns in Central Park, and the book contains short chapters on these topics and many more, easy explorations in the personal essay form. They move from the particular to the general, are informal and discursive. 

Sacks is most well-known for his book Awakenings, which chronicles his treatment of patients with a rare sleeping sickness, people who had missed whole decades of life then woke up and found themselves once again in the land of the living. 

Awake is how I feel after reading the work of this scientist and writer, gone almost 10 years but alive to me now thanks to this final, exhilarating collection. 

(Sacks’ signature courtesy Wikipedia)

Stopping for Sunset

Stopping for Sunset

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A late walk, not timed for sunset but finding it anyway. There at the end of the street, the end of the neighborhood, the end of the day.

It was not an untrammeled view. Lines and lights and poles obscured it. But maybe, I thought as I snapped, they were the point. Stop, say the red lights. Savor the colors, the clouds, the setting sun. Make time for them as often as you can.  
Sock it to Me

Sock it to Me

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The newspaper headline caught my eye: “Your Socks are Showing Your Age.” The accompanying photo shows two people who both look young to me, one wearing ankle socks barely visible above their shoes and the other wearing crew socks. 

Apparently, Gen Z is embracing the sort of tall, dorky socks that everyone wanted to leave behind two decades ago, the kind you see on old guys mowing the lawn. Young folks now sport crew socks with sneakers and even with high heels. Take that, Millennials, they say as they flaunt their now-trendy tube socks. 

How old do you have to be before you start seeing fashion as a game? Not very. The youngest Millennials are turning 30. 

As a walker in the suburbs, it only figures that I would have an opinion on socks. They are, after all, the interface between foot and shoe. A well-fitting pair puts a bounce in my step; an ill-fitting pair drives me crazy. With socks, as with so much of life, the best approach is one of moderation: neither too high nor too low is the recipe for happiness.

(Photo from Wikipedia’s page on Socks and sandals, considered a “fashion faux pas” in some places)

Covering Ground

Covering Ground

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There is no clear trail around Lake Audubon. There are twists and turns, hidden paths and a bridge it took me years to find. 

But yesterday the pieces all fell together, the landscapes and the streetscapes. There were wooded straightaways and sunny patches. There was neighborhood walking — perfect for ogling lakeside houses I’d love to live in — and forest glades with dappled shade.

I saw anglers, paddle-boarders and dog-walkers. Everyone was up to something, and I was covering ground. The weekend torpor had vanished with the breeze. 

(Banana trees along the lake. Yes, bananas grow in Fairfax County.)

Cool Breeze

Cool Breeze

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Something shifted overnight. It won’t last long, so I’d better write fast.  A cool breeze is blowing in from the west, bending the bamboo that fringes the deck, and thin clouds are scuttling through a blue sky.

There is movement and gladness in the air, and the lazy trills of birdsong. 

Colors look brighter, and there are plenty of them, especially in the back garden. 

I’d like to sit here and keep describing it all, but I’d better walk now, before it goes away.

(Two young walkers enjoying a cool breeze a few weeks ago. Photo: CCC)