July

Summer is in full possession of the world now. No longer waiting for the Oak’s permission, she has charged forward. The sun burning bright and hot. Humidity hanging in the air, a blanket of incandescent tingling on my skin, a heaviness to my hair.

Admittedly, I’m drunk on her. Mesmerized by the beauty coming at me from every direction as swallows and robins learn to fly and hummingbirds zip past me on the front porch in an obvious argument about which feeder belongs to which one.

We walk at dawn through a warm fog left over from the previous night’s storms. We go early to avoid the swamp flies and yet I still wear my lightweight grey hoodie, the cloak of a modern mage. For a moment I allow myself to pretend that I am Arwen, on her way to the ship. And I imagine that I am interrupted by fate, knowing that love still does exist within me. Then, the dog startles a flicker on the wooded ground, who takes flight with her danger call, and I am back in my own forgotten forest once more.

The wetland grass is high, and the deer path has become disheveled since the hard rain. The dog takes the lead though, the swamp swallowing him every now and again. And then I will see his head bobbing out in front of me like he’s swimming through a rolling, green sea.

We emerge finally, soaked through from the morning dew, fog, and lingering rain. the dog allows himself a hearty shake and smiles back at me. I love that smile. We see the horses in the distance, unconcerned with our approach, their keen sense of safety vs something else automatically registering us as part of their own circle. Some deer graze nearby, also unconcerned and apparently enamored with the tender new grass sprouting from where hay has just been cut.

I have a thought that startles me, although it is not unpleasant. I hope that someone sees beauty here after I’m gone. The fawns discovering their legs, the young toad that hopped through the barn this morning on his way to a safe and secret corner, the ferns unfurled and so graceful on the forest floor, the smell of a sweaty horse freshly rolled in dirt, bird song in every season… And I marvel at how a creature like me, branded by water as a birthright, can also be so taken with the earth beneath my feet. It is as if I could lie in the dirt and remember what it was like to float in the womb of the universe yet anchor myself to the soil.

Today we will plant some late tomatoes, give fresh nectar to the hummingbirds, and check the bird baths and bee stations for storm debris. The sun will burn off this fog and remind us that summer is Queen. And we will celebrate her wild intensity within our own feral souls.

Photo by Denzel V on Pexels.com