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.