Thunder and fireflies (and, for a change, rain)

It has been a very wet and gloomy week here in Pittsburgh. The dreary details have to do with something called the northern oscillation, and, I guess, warm Gulf of Mexico air meeting slightly cooler air coming from the north.

Last night, (June 18) after a day of frowning skies and occasional showers, the clouds parted briefly around 6 or so and the blue sky appeared. That was nice. Even nicer was the firefly show.
I stood out on the front porch, mostly just to see the evening blue and guess what, the summer lightning bugs made their appearance in the dusk. There are so few of them these days; I remember catching them in mayonnaise jars when I was a kid. Now, I feel fortunate to see three or four flickering around my yard on a late June night. (Of course, maybe they are drowning.)

A few weeks ago, a sales kid came knocking on the door, pitching a lawn pesticide service, including the admonition "a lot of your neighbors have signed up!" Why is that a selling point? I guess it probably isn't ... just something the door-to-door kids are told to say. But my own idea is that I would rather see fireflies in June than a weed-free lawn all summer.

Here is a front yard in my hilly neighborhood. No grass, lots of plants, shrubs and trees and hopefully no need for lawn poison. Really pretty.

(Photo by Katy Buchanan)

P.S. Flash flood watch this afternoon at 3 p.m. til 5:30 p.m. Clear from 6-ish on to about 8. But thunder and downpours have returned as we roll towards midnight. More of the same expected Thursday. Ray Bradbury's "Long Rain" was extraordinarily prescient.

From June to July

It seems defeatist to consider summer over in mid-July, but by my mark, the season is winding down.

That mark is the onset of cicada buzz, turning the quiet, firefly-lit nights of June to sleepy-hum earlier sunsets of July.

The daylight changes, too, as the sun slants down lower in the sky. But I love what the lower light does: it highlights colors in the garden and deepens shadows, making lingering outside an experience as lush in its own right as those bright spring days are exhilarating in their own.

This July day in Pittsburgh passed with cerulean blue skies and temperatures in the 90s. The Dormont Pool was packed and I'm sure the movie theaters were, too. Watermelon from a farmer's market chilled in my fridge.

In the evening, fireflies flashed and a bit of a breeze cooled the night air.

In the depths of winter, these days keep me warm.

August, after

Thank you, Counting Crows, for the inspiration for the title of this post.

I love August.

The crickets and cicadas buzz and sing at night, having taken over the night air from the fireflies of June and July. The sun is moving lower in the sky and there is a sense of gathering in the world. A gathering of last enjoyments of summer -- even though the warm days will last another six to eight weeks or so. A gathering up in the mind of preparation for winter's dark months. A gathering up of all that has been enjoyed -- quiet talks at dusk, dogs snoozing on the summer lawn, the pleasures (and frustrations) of the summer garden, the sun on bare skin, the cool sparkle of a clear pool-- and the anticipation of enjoying it all again next year.

August.

I think the year should be counted by halves. March to August and September to February. It is a richer way of marking time, and more subtle too, than the artificial observance of a calendar year's passing.


A musical ending. Some years ago, my sister Suzanne presented Carl with a CD by Pete Yorn. It rested, unlistened to, for a while. We have recently pulled it out of the pile, and have been enjoying it so much. He has a new release coming out in September with Scarlett Johansson.

So, we're late to the party, but thanks Pete Yorn. "Music for the Morning After" is tremendous.