A goal to savor summer

The last day of July – traditionally I’d think this marks a point of only one more month of summer. That summer is over half-way gone, and it’s time to scramble to pack in all the plans that are unrealized for this year. But maybe I should shift that approach and instead focus on savoring each and every day of this glorious, albeit short season.

I tried complaining about the excessive heat and humidity we had a week ago. Temps were in the 90’s, heat index was above 100, and there was no cooling down overnight. But then I tried to shift my focus – yes, I was still hot and I was sweating. I wasn’t able to sit outside to read, I wasn’t able to work in the gardens, and I found myself wandering inside to the comfort of air conditioning. But if I launched my kayak in the early morning I could take advantage of the coolest time of the day. And if I found a place to read in the shade and with maybe a light breeze, a tall glass of iced tea was a good accompaniment to my reading. And then when it was the late high-heat of the day and I was tempted to escape inside, I could walk to the beach and jump in the lake – a surely quick way to cool off!

So maybe, just maybe, my attitude needed the adjustment to summer. Rather than complaining about the heat and complaining about how quickly the months are going by, I could embrace and savor each summer’s day – the sun-drenched heat, the thunderstorms that roll through and give way to a bright rainbow, the fireflies that blink after the sun has set, the plethora of stars on a dark and hot summer’s night, and the opening in the clouds that was briefly painted in the late evening sky and reflected in the calm waters below.

Reflections on late fall

The calendar continues to move closer to winter; autumn is almost out of our rear view mirror. The waterfowl have all flown south, the temperatures are dipping lower at night, the sun is hanging closer to the horizon, and the majority of leaves have fallen. The oak tree leaves that remain are a deep russet color.

We had a couple of days of calm winds, where the stillness of nature was delightful. As sunset neared, the winds dropped completely and the lake became like a sheet of glass. The sinking sun’s rays were a golden light and spread across the shoreline. Each tree seemed to glow until gradually the sun sank below the opposite hill and spread it’s shadow over the trees.

Soon the lake will begin to freeze. The oaks will drop their remaining leaves, and winter will settle in. It’s been a glorious, and longer, fall – nothing to complain about here.

The fickleness of fall

Fall – a season that changes from day to day as we transition from summer to winter. It’s never an easy transition and yet we are surprised with the temperature and weather swings. Just as we were reveling in the beauty of the fall colors we woke up to a wintry snowfall a week ago. It powdered the tree leaves with white, accentuating the yellows and reds and reminding us of what lies ahead. The air was quiet with the sound of the falling snow, and the temperatures were still mild. The waterfowl that were here didn’t seem to mind although many have already begun their migration south. By early afternoon the snow had melted, and a few days later we were enjoying sun and the warmth of the 60’s. But this short snow was our reminder of the approaching winter season and the beauty that will come with a landscape covered in white.

A vibrancy of fall colors

As summer fades in the north we are treated to a burst of vibrant fall colors. It’s a feast for our eyes – our senses absorb the colors and try to soak them all in. The blue sky seems bluer and the contrast with the reds, oranges, and yellows of fall grab our attention. It is sometimes breathtaking and even overwhelming, but glorious none the less.

The peak of these colors is lovely, yet fleeting. The intensity changes daily and the colors quickly fade and become muted. And then one day the wind blows and the leaves that had been clinging to the branches since spring let go and carpet the ground with their diminished hues. It’s a ritual that we know happens – a reminder that all things change, and that the snow will soon be ushering in our winter season.

Waiting for the fog to lift

It was early morning when I launched my kayak into the lake. The smell of fireworks from the previous night’s celebrations hung heavy in the air. There was no wind, no movement; the fog had developed overnight and was now suspended low over the lake.

This is my favorite time of day – the after dawn quiet when the world slowly awakens, before the rush and hurry of another 24 hours. I paddled as quietly as I could, rustling up some ducks that were gliding through the lily pads. Someone had recently been sitting on this dock, throwing their fishing line into the lake, and hoping for a bite. The rod was left leaning against the bench but at the ready for the return of the angler. Perhaps that person was waiting for the fog to lift.