Abundance and Reciprocity

Summer's midpoint is about a month away, on August 7, unless, like many of the Celts, we recognize only two seasons, in which case Summer solstice was also midsummer, half way between the two equinoxes. Since Minnesota is (in)famous for its two seasons of either winter or road work, I'm not sure where that leaves us. Each, in its own way, is exceptionally irritating and this road work season's trials and tribulations are compounded by roads being buckled by well above (historic) normal temperatures. At least we've not (yet) reached the level of flash flooding Texas is experiencing these days.

butterfly weed in bloom

Photo by J. Harrington

Locally, butterfly weed has started to bloom. Roadsides are also brightened by black-eyed Susans and what I think is bird's-foot trefoil. Many Eastern-tailed blue butterflies have been flitting around the driveway. Yard work is getting done in bits and pieces and short bursts in between downpours and unworkable levels of heat and humidity. Storms keep bringing down more branches, and an occasional tree, which have to get cleaned up before the mowing can occur. 

I suspect lots of folks in Gaza and Ukraine would be only too happy to trade problems with me, even if I add in a raccoon that twice yesterday tried to feed from the bird feeder and mention that it looks like deer, rabbits, or somethings, have managed to do in the serviceberry bushes I planted a couple of weeks ago. Maybe they'll recover. We'll wait and see (with extremely lowered expectations).

One of the bigger concerns I have these days is that we're living in a time of sliding baselines in environmental, societal and political sectors. I'm too often hearing in my head the line from Me and Bobby McGee "freedom's just another word for nothin' left to lose." Is a freedom with nothing left to lose what we really want as a country? Or, do we need to include responsibility to balance our freedom? Have you read Robin Wall Kimmerer's The Serviceberry? It offers a helpful and healthy alternative to our current situation.

Solstice

by Jane Hirshfield

The Earth today tilts one way, then another.

And yes, though all things change,
this night again will watch its fireflies,
then go in to a bed with sheets,
to lights, a beloved.

To running water cold and hot.

Take nothing for granted,
you who were also opulent, a stung cosmos.

Birds sang, frogs sang, their sufficient unto.
The late-night rain-bringing thunder.

And if days grew ordinarily shorter,
the dark’s mirror lengthened,

and one’s gain was not the other lessened.

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