Amidst the uncertainty that defines our waking hours and restless nights in this summer of 2010 – the summer of “The Spill” – some things are constant. Some small things, at least.
This I know: summer is for the bugs!
Summer arrives with the junebugs, rattling around the porch light, clinging to the screen door, dancing to the tireless chorus of cicadas. Ancient scarabs heralding the changing season.
Countless grasshoppers – green, yellow and black, large, small – hide in the grass, emerging when my back is turned to devour my roses.
Of course, the mosquitoes have survived the winter and attack relentlessly, dictating when and how we can venture out of doors.
Thankfully, there are also the “mosquito hawks” - the dragonflies, with their gossamer, iridescent wings. Magical, mythical creatures.
All of these bring childhood memories to me – of long summer days and damp summer nights, in an era before air conditioning. Of sunny days that glowed, golden. Of three-dimensional-green woods with shady trails leading to the coulee – a magical setting for young imaginations.
My grandson will learn to mark the seasons and will recognize these harbingers of summer. Alas, lightning bugs have not survived decades of urbanization. I’d gladly trade a junebug or two for just one that he could hold in the palm of his hand and carry to the dark corner of the back yard in a mason jar to release with wishes and wonder.
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.
Summer arrives with the junebugs, rattling around the porch light, clinging to the screen door, dancing to the tireless chorus of cicadas. Ancient scarabs heralding the changing season.
Countless grasshoppers – green, yellow and black, large, small – hide in the grass, emerging when my back is turned to devour my roses.
Of course, the mosquitoes have survived the winter and attack relentlessly, dictating when and how we can venture out of doors.
Thankfully, there are also the “mosquito hawks” - the dragonflies, with their gossamer, iridescent wings. Magical, mythical creatures.
All of these bring childhood memories to me – of long summer days and damp summer nights, in an era before air conditioning. Of sunny days that glowed, golden. Of three-dimensional-green woods with shady trails leading to the coulee – a magical setting for young imaginations.
My grandson will learn to mark the seasons and will recognize these harbingers of summer. Alas, lightning bugs have not survived decades of urbanization. I’d gladly trade a junebug or two for just one that he could hold in the palm of his hand and carry to the dark corner of the back yard in a mason jar to release with wishes and wonder.
Star light, star bright, first star I see tonight, I wish I may, I wish I might have the wish I wish tonight.
- Author Unknown
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