We're back to the kind of weather I associate with the state fair, warm (even hot) and humid. This may not be Summer's last hurrah, but I suspect any warm spells after this one will be more like an encore than the main performance. Meanwhile, the sumac and sugar maples continue to turn red. It's becoming more and more clear to me that nature's progress is stutter-step while our calendars have sharp cut offs that note one day it's Summer and the next it's Autumn. Many things in the real world don't fit our penchant for linear structures.
early August, fawns wearing spots
Photo by J. Harrington
The two fawns in the photo were spotted (not just seen, they were wearing spots) at the beginning of the month. When I saw them (at least I believe it was them) this past Sunday morning, spots weren't noticeable (so I saw them but didn't spot them). The fawns are still smaller than mom but all their pelage is now about the same color. It'll be awhile yet before Summer's reddish wash becomes Wintery gray, just as it's too early for frogs to start hibernating, though I've noticed a number of them crossing roads on their way to wintering grounds. Some of the migrations we watch for are largely local. In Minnesota, no season, even Winter, is permanent.
A World of Light
If I close my eyes now, I can still see themcanopied by the visor of my sunhat:three children islanded on a narrow rimof earth between the huge crack-willow thatthey squat before, hushed, poised to net a frog,and the pond the frog will jump to (it got away)a glass its dive will shatter.The unbroken imagepleases my mind’s eye with its density,such thick crisscross of tree-trunk, earth, and tall grassI see no breach, no source for the light that steeps itbut a blue burning in the pond’s green glass.
The grass withered, the tree blew down, earth caughtthe frog, the children grew. Sky’s ice-blue flameteased along the wick it would consume.
Thanks for visiting. Come again when you can.
Please be kind to each other while you can.