What summer’s proposing is some kind of happiness. The morning is hot, the afternoon will be one of those shades-drawn electric-fan kind of laziness. But then, pretty soon this early June sun will go down after this muggy day.
Chores will be done, some small amount of wood split, kayak nosed out of its winter quarters in the shed, maybe some bills toted up, maybe not. I’ll suggest to no one, maybe just myself, that all we’ve got to do is to pull up the Adirondack chair and kick back, to do nothing in particular. Maybe spend the evening listening to the sweet old song of the redstart warbler hidden in the foliage. The invisible red-eyed vireo will keep up his breathless endless melody, the wood thrush will begin his virtuoso evening song from the darkening wood, as the purple glow of an early dusk in June settles down.
How about a chilled glass of crisp white wine, make that a Loire Valley muscadet? To remind me of those other summers on the Breton coast.
Swifts will streak overhead in their sheer joy of flying through the summer air of a Saturday night,maybe the whip-poor-will will call.
It’ll all be like a miracle.
RiverStoriesDavidBrule 