We stand at summer’s slack tide, a moment poised between growth and decline. The season hangs suspended, endless as the horizon, as if change were an impossible dream.
The woods have shed their spring blossoms, trading the whites and pinks of wedding gowns for a mature, steady green. Leaves whisper secrets in the warm breeze, a deep emerald sea stretching to the blue sky. Life pulses, relentless and busy.
Every leaf is a solar panel, angled for maximum gain. The great oak and black walnut spread their canopies wide, their rough trunks besieged by upstart kudzu, creeping poison ivy, and the sinewy forearms of fox grape. It’s a slow-motion battle, this grappling for light, played out over decades.
Where the leafy dome thins at the forest’s edge, the lawn yields to a profusion of wild growth. Here, the sun’s unfiltered bounty spawns giants. Inkberry and Jacob’s Staff – mere seeds in the mud of March – now tower taller than any man I know. They stand sentinel, guarding the threshold of this Northeastern American jungle, as impenetrable as any rainforest.
As morning warms to afternoon, the cicadas begin their fevered symphony. Their pulsing drone swells, a thick blanket muffling birdsong. Yet nature abhors monotony. A blue jay’s sharp cry cuts through, startling in its clarity. Higher still, a red-tailed hawk’s piercing shriek slices the air, a reminder of wild things and hungrier realms.
Closer to earth, where dappled shadows dance, life moves with urgent industry. Ants march in regimented lines, their tiny feet etching paths in the dirt. Bees hum from flower to flower along the lavender walkway, legs heavy with pollen. A squirrel leaps somewhere high in the canopy, chasing early fruit. In the leaf litter, a millipede charts a patient course, unaware of the catbird’s hopeful gaze.
Time feels sluggish in the muggy air, trapped in amber. And, as tempting as the illusion of endless summer may be, this moment of perfect fullness cannot last.
Subtle.
Subtle in its dissolution.
Already, I notice that the bats have left before I hear my daughter’s tires on the driveway.