The temperature reached eighty degrees today and, judging by the purchases at the Thrift Shop, this was the day people finally snapped: they would not wear their winter clothes one more day. They pulled their summer clothes out of storage, put some on, and set off for the Thrift Shop to look for more. They wanted some colors that look good in the sun, some shorts and short-sleeved shirts, flip-flops and sandals, and a hat to protect them from the sun.
The system of plastic barriers that surrounded the checkout counter at the shop, erected in accordance with CoVid precautions and so restrictive of communication, has at long last been removed. Conversation once again flows easily there. Customers chat with each other and with the clerks, admiring people’s selections. Oh, isn’t that a gorgeous color! That linen is so light, it’s hardly more than a whisper! My goodness, you’re a speedy shopper—four pairs of shorts in just about four minutes! Nope—four pairs of shorts and a new hat! Folks were exuberant. The earth has made it to the point in its orbit where the light feels like summer light.
As the dog and I have traveled the neighborhood lately, in and out of the woods and past the ponds, it’s the light I keep noticing. There are other high points as well—the sudden, heady fragrance of lilacs, ducklings so new they skitter across the water–but I keep coming back to the light. It reflects on turtles as they bask. Mike told me today about seeing a turtle trying to join a basking party already in progress on a sunny log. When the new turtle climbed up out of the water, it set the whole log to rocking. I saw something similar, recently, where the new turtle’s motion rolled the log enough that not only did the new turtle not make it onto the log but all the turtles already on the log fell back into the water.
Yesterday’s walk specialized in flashes of light. A great blue heron walked over to and into a no-name pond to stalk bluegills near the bank.* Suddenly, that feathered head darted down, and emerged with a bluegill wiggling in its beak. The little fish flashed silver in the sun, and then it was gone. The heron had swallowed it and stalked further down the pond to hunt some more.
Two mid-sized snapping turtles put in appearances at the surface of the same pond. Snappers look prehistoric, with spiky tails and shells and trailing algae. They’re ponderous and dark. Not showy. But one of them, as it angled back down into the pond, caught the sun on its shell and reflected the light. For a moment, the back of that snapper was the brightest object in the pond. I’d never found beauty in a snapper before. And there it was.
In the sky over the same, no-name pond, birds were busy. Swallows swept back and forth, back and forth, feeding on the wing. Red-winged blackbirds kept an eye out for intruders. And a bluejay—such a flashy bird—made a course correction and flashed in an entirely new way. It changed its angle of ascent to one so steep that the bird’s white underside caught the light and sent a spangle back toward the sun. Wow. Who knew that could happen?
We had an impromptu dinner on the deck with our neighbors this evening. We were already enjoying libations as the sun lazed lower in the sky, why not order pizza? We tried a new place, La Piazza, whose offerings sounded offbeat and tasty. The pies were delicious. This is especially good news because La Piazza is very nearby. As we dined and chatted, we kept shifting the position of our chairs with the movement of the sun, at first to limit exposure and then to keep it out of our eyes. Slow-motion Busby Berkeley.
What do you suppose the dog made of our behavior? He might have noticed it, now that he’s had his summer haircut and can once again see what’s what. He sure looks different with his puppy cut. Our short-legged, short-muzzled pet is now revealed as a long-legged, long-muzzled stranger. Rascal looks like his name should really be Scout or Ranger or Sparky. He could maybe even stretch to Buster.
It’s all in how you look at things. There’s something about the summer light.
*Odd-looking great blue heron: cream-colored neck, which wasn’t extended when the bird walked. My friend Sue says that’s because it was a green heron. She refrained from saying, “Duh.” She’s way too kind to say that out loud.
12 May 2023