Early in the morning, when the air is fresh, damp and relatively cool,
High in the trees a heavy mist hangs, blanketing the sky.
The sun creeps over the horizon, turning the gray fog into a brilliant gold mist.The sky turns from a dull, gray-blue, to a radiant, peach-turquoise-gold.
The dew lies heavy on the grass.
The newly wakened birds are singing a chorus of ecstasy.
Later in the day, after the mist and dew are distant memories, and the birds are less exuberant, the cicadas hum a nostalgic tune, the sound of summer.Added to this, less noticeable though equally important, the dull, comfortable buzz a crickets fill in the background.
The sky is a deep royal blue.
Golden rod and Queen Anne’s lace waves among the tall grass in the meadows, in the forest, sunlight filters through the trees.Wild blackberry bushes, heavy with the jewel like fruit, ripen in the sun.
Heat waves ripple across the earth, disturbed only by a slight breeze.
Hours later, in the evening, you watch as the sky transforms from deep blue, to a medley of crimson, plum, fuchsia, and gold, deepening to a inky blue, dotted with stars.
Fireflies emerge as the day birds retire, soon replaced by the owl, hunting calls fill the silence.
Toads emerge to do whatever toads do.
The moon rises slowly.
Only the lonesome cry of the owl and the ever present hum of the crickets break the peaceful sound of nothing.
The moon casts its shadow over the woods and field.
This is Summer.