Absent Summer

I've decided to put a light comforter back on our bed. We've succumbed to what appears to be now a summer that simply refuses the presence of warmth. Insisting instead that summer must now present as cool, windy and full of intriguing weather surprises. Rain even while the sun is full out; rain events that seems to pop out of nowhere, in an otherwise-benign sky. Rain that, on occasion overwhelms in its sheer weighty onslaught, the capacity of the soil to receive it.

Thunderstorms that travel in mischievous packs, hitting and resounding in a near succession of eye-popping downpours, threatening to move houses off foundations by sheer volume. Conversations have erupted rife with weather speculation, spoiled vacation plans, and mortally drenched gardens. We now need the comfort of that light counterpane, these chill nights.

Truth be said, however, older people like us, retired from work outside our homes, find the weather manageable, even pleasant. Preferring cool to extreme heat, occasional rain (even when it appears omnipresent) to dryness. And today we actually had temperatures rising above 20 degrees, with but a few clouds in the sky, and light winds. We haven't missed the usual humidity that comes with the usual summer heat.

Today's ravine jaunt was more than slightly pleasant. Butterflies and damselflies have returned, and birds cheerfully sang in the trees. And the trails are beginning finally to dry from the onslaughts of repetitive thunderstorms. There is yarrow to be seen, cornflowers, sumac, their horns beginning to colour red, and haws appearing on the hawthorns. And cherries in little clusters in the cherry trees. And Queen Anne's lace beginning to spread. Among the daisies and the cinquefoil, there are emerging goldenrod heads now.

The bright pink flowers of purple raspberry (thimbleberries) brighten the landscape, and we've discovered fully ripe red raspberries just waiting to be picked and devoured. Lilies continue to bloom, bright orange sparks against the backdrop of greens. We saw a hawk gliding high above the trees, searching for prey. We're hoping that the tiny chipmunks and red squirrels are too swift for the hawk's intentions.

In one area after another along our hour's circuit, tiny red squirrels speed along the undergrowth to reach our usual peanut-deposit places, atop bridges, inside protruding tree bark, dropped into trunk cavities and deposited on rotted old tree stumps. To us it's gratifying that they recognize the signals; our arrival and passing indicating opportunities to avail themselves of treats