Another gorgeous morning! On cold Winter days, we will remember these moments and wish we could bottle up days like today. I believe Summer should be defined, not by those blistering hot and humid days, or scary severe weather events, but instead, by picture-perfect blue skies, puffy clouds and sunbeams.
I’ve encountered a few more creative chalk artists displaying their talents on the pavement I pound during my back-and-forth daily trip to Council Point Park. These sidewalk squares are so full of life that how can one not feel a little lighter in step when faced with this cheery message?
I know that seeing this sidewalk scene just put me in a better frame of mind. Sunshine, in any form, brightens the day and stirs the soul.
Upon my arrival at Council Point Park, I waved good morning to a few fellow walkers, then was alone in my thoughts as I enjoyed the sounds of the Park “wildlife” … well, the term “wildlife” may be stretching it a wee bit. I’ve yet to see the big bullfrogs that belong to those croaking noises on a still morning. Their belching is enough to make you jump out of your skin sometimes, like this morning. I was day-dreaming just a little, when a big bullfrog’s voice reverberated as I walked parallel to the Creek. Then, a big splash with water droplets had me assuming it was the turtles escaping once they saw this big, bad human, but it was a muskrat. Shortly after the splash, he resurfaced to come up for air, and, with his water-soaked, bristly fur slicked back, and those beady eyes, he had a rather menacing look. I didn’t drag out the camera since suddenly I heard a thwack and he slipped back into the water, swimming slightly below the surface, a long thick tail trailing behind.
Muskats don’t make my morning brighter, but the birds sure do, especially when they are plentiful and birdsong fills the air. The trees are full of birds and their sweet song is pleasurable to my ears.
My parents rented a cottage at Rush Lake in Northern Michigan for back-to-back Summers in August 1967 and 1968. The first year, the owners of the property warned that the black flies were usually so bad you could not sit out after dusk, and suggested we bring along some board games, a deck of cards and a few good books. The TV reception was spotty there as well. While sequestered in the cottage after dark every night, we heard a lot of wildlife noises. Boisterous moose calls were the nightly norm, as were the eerie and mournful calls by the loons. The loons’ voices sounded like a wolf howling at the moon and stirred your senses and made you feel as if you were one with nature.
I’ll leave you with this quote by the philosopher George Santayana: “The earth has its music for those who will listen.”