Summer is asserting itself. The summer rains have come, leaving fields of fast-ripening corn, now tasseling out, heads topped with silky golden strands.

The never-ending contest between man and bird continues as blackberries ripen on the vine, sweet and luscious. The score? The birds always seem to be a berry or two ahead.

Extended fields of soybeans, rich, green legumes, ripen under the sweltering afternoon sun. Summer squash are found in every farmers market. In tomato fields, box turtles lumber along, harvesting fallen produce. Scuppernong grapes, the foundation for autumn's wine -- fermented summer in a globe -- have attained the size of a fat pea as they convert sunshine into sugar.

There is a silence that comes with these overheated mid-summer days. Birds are quieter than in the spring, their songs of ecstacy having given way to parental scoldings. Bees are topping off their combs with sweet clover honey. Their incessant buzzing has been replaced by the din of cicada.

Seldom does one see wildlife stirring, not until after dusk. Animals' nocturnal wanderings stretch into the dawn, as they retreat to the woodland cool to sleep away the daylight hours.

July helps realize the dreams of April, pushing the awakened seeds of hope toward another step in the cycle of life.

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