It's high summer; the middle of August. It brings great joy - yet comes the feeling summer is nearly over.
It brings moments remembered. The sight of the Mount Vernon airport in the humid Illinois air, late summer. There is an ambitious expanse of simple ground lights. I know I saw it all more often from a car than from the air.
It seems memories come around in a year's time. Our bodies remember what happened a year ago this time, as if it should happen again now. I am missing something; I do not know where it went, and then later, what it is.
I see a young turkey vulture: one who looks as old as all of his species. He learns to circle and climb the thermal air. Soon he will use his height to spy, drop upon and possess a corpse of carrion on the road. So specialized, his is a world we do not know.
Crab apples are exploding in a nearby tree. What eats these sour apples? I do not know. They look so lovely, they are tempting, but we humans only pucker, spit and scowl upon tasting them. As I approach a tree, a dwarf crab, I see bluebirds fly away from it one by one.
Lastly, I watch my image in the shadow of the patio deck grow to be large upon the lawn. Doves arrive at the beach two by two. Great summer, you will soon be over.
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