It was the first thing Beau and I noticed as we set off on a long walk this morning before the heat and humidity drove us indoors. Early light beamed through the high, gossamer heat haze as though old Helios was a lighthouse lamp broadcasting caution on a foggy autumn morning. The trees along our way looked as though they were lifting their branches in greeting to the rising sun, and perhaps they were.
Mourning doves cooed softly on the roof peak, a mid-to-late summer happening. Somewhere in the overstory, grosbeaks lifted their voices in song, and there was no mistaking it - the song was one of praise. The chorale rose into the sky and drifted back down again. A single cicada, the first of the season, primed his tymbals for a day of courting ballads from a perch in the oak tree in the front yard.
The fields along our way were tenanted by waving fronds of bugloss, buttercups, chicory, clover, hedge bindweed, goldenrod, meadow salsify, orange and yellow hawkweed, Queen Anne's lace, toadflax and vervain, to name just a few. There were young cottontail rabbits everywhere, and Beau pointed every one he saw.
Vines in the hedgerows are now sporting tiny, green grapes, and the two black walnut trees nearby are bending over under their abundant fruiting. I gathered three nuts and brought them home in my pocket, sniffing their fragrance all the way back. With a little luck, their perfume will linger in the house for a day or two.
And so begins the crafting of our summer litany. As we go along, we gather birdsong and raspy insect ballads. We collect fruiting trees and vines, weeds and wildflowers, all the small, radiant happenings of a quiet summer morning, We thank Herself (the Old Wild Mother) for another fine season of light and wonder and rambling.
Tonight there will be fireflies. What a trip!
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