06.13.20

“Though it was past ten o’clock at night, the sky still clung to and retained some lingering skirts of light from the departed day; and the sullen heats of the torrid afternoon broke up and rolled away at the dispersing touch of the cool fingers of the short midsummer night.”  –-The Wind in the Willows by Kenneth Graham

We have not had “torrid afternoons”–in fact, we are something like 258% over normal for moisture so far in June and temperatures have been 10+ degrees below normal.  But, when the clouds do part at bedtime, and the sun begins to set over the northern edge of the lake, there is a peaceful release–even if just momentarily– from all the anxiety and fear I may have suffered throughout the day.  And, when I sat at the shore and watched the Canada Goose family, with seven new goslings, glide by in quiet silver-blue water, my saddest spirits were lifted from another coronavirus roller coaster day.   I count my blessings.  “Who could be so lucky?  Who comes to a lake for water and sees the reflection of moon.” -Rumi

Big changes are coming here to the lake on Monday.  We are expanding our shelter in place bubble to include Valerie and family from California, for who knows how long.  After all these solitary months hunkered down, the life and energy of grandchildren filling the house is such a happy thought.  We were talking the other evening about how it’s time to clean out the fireplace and bid farewell to all those evenings we cozily spent by the fire, with the remains of winter out our windows.  We do that quite well together.  But, just as the light has returned to the sky, and the trees have leafed out, and the flowers are in bloom, we are ready for summer’s arrival of warm and long days.  The sailboat is tethered to her mooring ball and the old motor boat is on the ramp, and weather or not, now it is time.

Why I Am Happy

Now has come, an easy time. I let it

roll. There is a lake somewhere

so blue and far nobody owns it.

A wind comes by and a willow listens

gracefully.

I hear all this, every summer. I laugh

and cry for every turn of the world,

its terribly cold, innocent spin.

That lake stays blue and free; it goes

on and on.

And I know where it is.

— William Stafford