The fog blanketing the flowing waters of the Susquehanna doesn't last long.
Sun's bright rays from the eastern horizon burns it off quick. The channel of flowing fog is changed into the river of shimmering light.
Into the forest I go. A la sainte terre.
First of the year goldenrod; Each raceme is bursting with hundreds of small vibrant yellow flowers. Songbirds have quieted down as we enter these post-breeding days of summer, and the buzzy songs of cicadas have begun.
For everything there is a season, a time for everything under the heavens. The season of nesting birds gives way to the season of the songs of cicadas and goldenrod in bloom. Seasons; it is clear to the observant saunterer that there are more than four of them. So many more.
To all of my Wild Neighbors along the Diahoga Trail this morning, I thank God for you.