Morning

The thing about June is that not only does it launch summer onto the scene, but it is when Spring lingers slowly in its final dying breaths. There is a transfer, a change of the guard. The cicadas come out in the evenings, their sound rising to a cresendo and shrinking back, rising and back again and again, like the rhythm of the tides. Inbetween, there is a hammock lull. I enjoy summer's arrival. Summer doesn't jump out at you with big changes, it lazily yawns and stretches into being. Where Spring mornings inspire me with the daily discovery of change, summer mornings stun me with their show of early morning light. I watch the honey-colored ribbons stretching across the park to areas that go untouched at any other time of day. I watch the rays pass right over me as a miracle on my skin, and suddenly the day is fully lit, and fully hot. And so the day begins. Good morning.