beginnings and things I will miss
I walked the dogs out across the soccer field/dog park last night; it was past dusk, and just after a thunderstorm. Clouds rolled across the sky, and occasional strobe flashes of lightning arced from cloud to cloud, accompanied by grumbles and booms. The air was damp, and full of the smell of ozone, rich earth, and growing things. I will miss the thunderstorms. I watched for the little brown bats who are so often overhead on these evening walks, but I think they were still intimidated by the fading storm, and remained in their safe hiding places. The lightening bugs, however, were not to be daunted, flashing their yellow-green butts in secret bug-mating-code across the field and bordering forest. Insect drama of romance, lust and betrayal, if I could read it. Once, my eyes were good enough to keep track of them in the dark after the flash had faded, and if you bring a hand up beneath them, they'll land on it in a sort of automatic reflex arc of encountering solid ground beneath their little legs, as if they intended to all along. Often, afterwards, they take off again in a sort of startled confusion...'wait, why did I land there?' I will miss the lightening bugs. A lot. The dogs trot, noses in the grass, or in the air, snuffling the wet scents, and I wonder what they know through their noses that mine can't untangle from the air: breezes from the abbreviated forest of of oak, maple and tulip poplar. These will be all red and gold, come fall. I will miss the fiery, brilliant autumns.
As we head back, we pass the sound of water dripping through an air conditioner fan as it wrings the damp from the air like a wet rag. Headlights illuminate ghosts of steam rising from the pavement, and fallen chokecherries squish and roll under my feet. I suppose blackberries are a fair trade for chokecherries. Mild summers, for the heat. Mushrooms for muscadine grapes. An entire new landscape to learn, like a new lover. But still I will miss these old Appalachian hills.
But I hope there will be bats.
As we head back, we pass the sound of water dripping through an air conditioner fan as it wrings the damp from the air like a wet rag. Headlights illuminate ghosts of steam rising from the pavement, and fallen chokecherries squish and roll under my feet. I suppose blackberries are a fair trade for chokecherries. Mild summers, for the heat. Mushrooms for muscadine grapes. An entire new landscape to learn, like a new lover. But still I will miss these old Appalachian hills.
But I hope there will be bats.