Our hours of daylight are now at their longest. In four busy days, the solstice will be arriving, and our Day Star will be shifting course southward, not till then will there be any sunsets on view across the Arctic regions.
Nature is in no hurry. She has six months of cruising before this years voyage can be completed.
The onset of summer caused by the tilt of the earth is more than the arrival of the solstice, or the ripening of sweet corn, tender and delicious, or fledgling bluebirds, fresh from the shell, seeking to cope with the basics of life. Summer means summer humidity, sweating out the 14 and a half working hours of daylight across our greening Carolina. Its compensations include the promise of picnics and the tinkling of ice in our drinks, watching silvered rings of water as jumpin mullet dance free, great blue herons tall and stately standing guard over their marshlands. It is young rabbits decimating hard-earned vegetable gardens, undeniable squirrels poaching bird feeders, the flashing of a ruby throat riding on a darting blur of wings, sipping the nectars of natures flowers.
Summer means lawn chairs perched beneath shade trees and sweet Bogue Sound watermelon fresh from the farmers market. It speaks of grumbling thunderstorms rising of out the west, the freshening of wind, splattering of rain, of racing for shelter, while gathering breezes sing their odes, honoring the ancient weather gods.