A night of little sleep means an even longer longest day for me. I think of Stonehenge and the revelers there, allowed to mill about among the stones. I think of northern climes, of places where the sun will scarcely set tonight. And of all the riotous green of our own corner of the world, fed by spring showers and storms. Now summer is here, the play of sun upon the leaves, late day light slanting in from the west. Seasonal change always has a bit of the mysterious about it — never more so than today.