Summer. Gone.

The hay is off, corn is high, soy pods green, full, plump.

White berries over red leaves

Moss on ancient boulders once lifted from fields now made meadows- 

bright in the sun.

Cedar rails down. Their work done.

Cattails, Golden Rod.

Queen Anne’s Lace

Asters

Chickory…

Brown leaf  in  bird bath

Summer. Gone.

~*~*~

July’s full moon failed us not

 Soy Corn and woodlot

 Beautiful boulder  in rubble fence. The fallen cedar rails aged now match the boulder’s colour and both host moss.

 Red Osier Dogwood

 Goldenrod

 Queen Anne's Lace

 Aster

 Chickory

 Leaf in bird bath

 How I will miss the call of the loon when they leave after summer’s done

Summer perhaps singularly summer....

Midsummer is a wistful time for me as I eagerly listen for the courting songs of male songbirds seeking their mate for their second brood, or merely singing to its summer-long mate. Fledglings of the first brood are gone, and the juveniles of the birds with only one clutch are growing and changing daily. I watch a loon family with its solitary young one. I look at the moon in its summer beauty. I watch planes with pontoons fly into the clouds. I look at a spent pine and look for the foragers. I see fishermen in wooden boats and remember when they were all wood.The boats that is.

I watch loon down on the lake and think of the beauty and  fragility of these summer days.

 Knobby granite outcrops stand amongst lily-pads or are  strewn with muskrat detritus defy all seasons and all time.