Shady Path

 On our morning walks in the summertime, I like to follow the shady path. The sun is low enough behind the trees and houses that it creates a harbor of dark lines and shapes. The dogs like to follow their curiosities, and mostly where their noses pick up a good scent, so their plan and my plan often conflict. I do try to compromise between their pleasures and my comfort. This is the longest walk of the day, and during the summer months there is time to linger. As the sun rises, the shadows will fade into the earth. By midmorning there will be no refuge, so the remaining walks of the day will be unprotected. And much shorter.   

 

 

 

After The Rain

 When I stepped outside this morning, the earth had been freshly showered, patiently waiting for the warm sun to embrace it. And I was greeted by the beautiful sounds of a nearby northern mockingbird. I know this, of course, because I used my bird app. He was perched atop his birdhouse, proudly showing off all of the songs he knows, and I was impressed - he knows a lot. I could also hear the symphony of cicadas coming from the not-too-distant tree line: f, then p, forte, then piano, loud, then soft. I know THIS, of course, because I was raised by a family of musicians. 

With my wellies on, the dogs and I walked out into the wet grass, and everything looked more alive, more vibrant. The dogs seemed to share my thoughts, as they stuck their noses into the air, breathing in all of the heightened scents. As we walked toward the back field, the tall, whimsical-looking flowers that sometimes pop up in the summertime looked even more yellow, making everything look . . . happy. And the beads of raindrops atop the leaves of grass magnified the shades of green, making everything look like harmony.

And there were more than the usual number of butterflies fluttering about today. Big ones and small ones, yellow ones and blue ones, and the occasional ones dressed in orange. I watched as they flew so quickly, so sporadically, so . . . NOT efficiently. How ironic that their movements are so much fun to watch, yet it is their way of evading predators. I watched as the occasional sparrow unsuccessfully attempted to catch one.  

I returned to the back door with the dogs and their wet paws; my wellies covered in wet grass. And we have a routine on damp mornings like these. Normally, Charlie (the older and smarter one) will shake off the walk, but it takes a bit of coaxing for Max. This morning, however, neither dog seemed to care about shaking off their wet paws, and, like the earth relies upon the sun, perfectly happy to leave the work of drying them off to me.

Dusk

 

Mike was in the back field with the dogs (their nightly 8pm-ish walk), and I decided to step outside to see how dusk would greet me. What had been a typically hot and muggy July day, had given way to a beautifully pleasant evening. I could still feel the humidity in the air and on my skin, but there was a coolness that could be felt, riding in on the slightest of breezes - SO slight that you really had to be paying attention to notice, and I was. And in that breeze, I could smell the grass, the clover, and someone's late, summer dinner cooking on a grill. 

As I watched the sun give way to the moon, I was thinking there might be a chance for a dramatic looking sunset. I could see some pale shades of pink, and perhaps some yellow and orange forming, like an artist just beginning to add paint to paper, no vision in mind yet of what it might become. And the sound of a farmer’s tractor could be heard in the adjacent field, using up every moment of sunlight to complete the day’s work. 

Like someone turning down the dimmer switch, the sky grew darker. The artist must have decided to give it a go another day. There was no dramatic sunset, but still lovely, nonetheless. And now the focus was on the moon.

Hanging to the left of me, there was a soft but noticeable aura around it, likely from air pollution, though I prefer to think not. And it looked, well, there is no poetic way of saying this, as if the moon was made out of gelatin, and someone had squeezed it slightly between a forefinger and a thumb, one side still looking rounded, the other slightly concave. 

As the sky grew darker still, I noticed the fireflies had come out to perform their show. I noticed them mostly in the taller grasses behind our house, where the birds and the bees and the butterflies also prefer to be. I watched them play for a while, then noticed the silence. The sound of the farmer’s tractor had gone away - his workday had ended. Evening had turned to night. And riding in on that slightest of breezes was the scent of a different type of grass in the air.

The Squirrel

 A squirrel just came to visit.

If you live in the suburbs, with trees all around, this may not seem like a big deal, but I live in a house that is surrounded by farmland. We have foxes and deer, and an abundance of groundhogs and rabbits. And though we don’t often see them, our terrier sniffs and scratches at the ground, his canine senses convinced there is a field mouse or a mole just beneath the surface. We can hear coyotes serenading at nighttime and have seen evidence of the occasional black bear. Frogs and toads often show up at our doorstep, and we have spotted a turtle here and there, both boxing and snapping. There are birds of all kinds - birds of prey, including vultures, hawks, eagles and owls. The smaller birds list goes on and on, including sparrows, bluebirds, swallows (including purple marlins), mockingbirds, and much, much more. There are also ducks and geese in the local pond. And of course, the neighboring chickens, pigs and cows.

But I rarely see a squirrel.

She must have come from around the corner. I heard a slight noise as she hopped onto the pebble-covered patio edge, just a few feet from where I was sitting. She sat up and looked at me, in that adorable way that squirrels do, and as I was thinking the same thing, she seemed to be saying, “Oh! I wasn’t expecting you!” 

She paused for a moment, deciding what to do, and as I said, “Hello!” she quickly turned and ran from whence she came. Likely, back to her home somewhere off in the distant tree line, or perhaps over to one of the neighbor’s gardens to scrounge up some treasure for lunch.