and long live baseball. That's Calvin, looking the most ready of all.
Here's to the shortest dark night of the year. When I go to bed the northwestern sky will still turn the trees into silhouettes, and when I wake the northeastern sky will long have been light. We have maybe five hours of total darkness these days. But, believe me, the winter more than makes up for it!
The sounds I hear these days are tree frogs, with an occasional green frog chiming in with its banjo twang. Calvin found an enormous green frog yesterday; I had to remind him of the "no frogs in the house, I don't want to find them in the middle of the night" rule. I also hear birds; ethereal veeries, squeaky black and white warblers, insistent phoebes, and teasing red eyed vireos are the main singers now, more often heard than seen. I saw my first yellow-billed cuckoo today, and I probably convinced my coworker I was insane. I eyed it from a moving truck, and as soon as I saw it I was so sure of my identification I practically yelled out "Wow! A yellow billed cuckoo!" We birders are so oft misunderstood... Later, it was butterfly weed blooming, but I was much more restrained in my delight at the observation.
Although I'm still technically planting, the garden is bursting forth into an oasis of life. The sugar snap peas are absolutely thriving, and I should be enjoying the first harvest of them within a week. I have lots of lettuce at a time when, curiously, I am not especially craving lettuce. What's up with that? Have I lost my inner rabbit?
I offered my own song up into the twilight, out on the back step before the mosquitoes got too thick. I played a few random strings of notes on my flute, then broke into my medley of "The Maid Behind The Bar" and "Sheehan's Reel". Not having played much lately my tone was terrible, breath control nonexistent, and coordination sloppy. Hope I didn't offend the birds or the frogs.