The young beech trees remarkably still sport their papery dry leaves.
Yesterday the temperature crept up above 30, and the big melt continued in earnest today.
Twenty-seven seconds later, the moon disappeared.
What is earth-shattering barely registers, so great is the monotony of this period, so great the fatigue.
After night came, a large bug, nearly the size of a bird, began banging into a floodlight near the front door. It soon came to rest on the front door screen. We peered at it from the wrong side. It was weird looking, longer and broader than an ordinary cicada. We wanted to go outdoors…
In the deeper parts of the bog, the inky water reflects the sky, its surface spangled with algae and stray leaves.
At night, the flowering dogwood looks like a beautifully painted screen.
Were we too late to see the ephemerals? The leaves overhead were just beginning to form a dreamy green veil.
Suddenly, like a loose tooth, the old tree was gone.
For all the family and friends who’ve ever sat in these chairs and whiled away the time with us.
Repairs trigger episodes of suspense, drama, pride, anguish, and (often) comedy.
Happy at the prospect of the temperature hitting sixty, we climbed in the car and headed for the Kesling Preserve.