Seems unlikely that it has taken this long to gather in the life of summer seasons. Here we get eight weeks from mid-June - to forget - ‘til mid-August - to remember - the virtues of white winter. In between the land is green and water flows, even rushes, with joy. The land rushes. Gentle pine siskins come by and the bull moose in nascent velvet horns is home in his meadow. Sun sets pink on Ice Mountain, still. The sky might be softer, now. Bloom, time. Cusp of mid-summer’s eve yet wary of winter, still. Zoom!
(Cinco – Master of Joyful Running! Photo credit to Mark F.)