Honeysuckle On the Breeze

 

I got the inspiration for this post over a week ago, I'd better write it while it's still Springtime, the best time of the year in my book. The days are long and getting longer, the temperatures comfortable and the humidity low, for the most part. People are outdoors at barbeques and yard sales, going to baseball games and having parties in the back yard, the front lawn packed with cars. In other yards kids are playing sports. Why, when I came home just this evening my next door neighbor was playing tag with her two young sons whose laughter was music to rival the ever-present birdsong, except after the sun sets when the crickets and frogs take over.

Ah, and the vegetative world is growing with the exuberance of youth; the woods and meadows lush, the agricultural fields nascent with tender seedling. I crested a hill and beheld a valley so green that I couldn't believe it. I'm not sure what created that effect but that's what prompted me to write this post. I don't remember now where exactly it was, on some Southern Indiana back highway, but I do remember that view was of nothing but trees, no buildings or power lines of any kind. Strange; you'd think some contrast would further the sensation, but whatever the cause it was a beautiful experience.

Yet still people complain. There's always something wrong. It rains too much, or it's a trifle too hot. I've found myself doing it, it's almost obligatory in certain situations. Then again it hasn't been all sweetness and light either. We've had a few warm days with high humidity. I've been uncomfortable.

There was one day when the humidity was as thick as I believe I've ever seen it. Indiana 157 north of Bloomfield runs along the crest of the highest ridge in the area. It's a place where one can still see vistas across the "Little Smokies" even with the trees in leaf, on both sides of the road. On the day of hyper-humidity the atmospheric perspective was so pronounced that the receding hills looked like flat cardboard cutouts placed in front of each other, growing whiter with distance; not blue, white.

One last anecdote before I head to bed: I was caught in a downpour leaving the Club. The parking lot is ringed with locust trees, which had been in bloom for a couple of weeks, I guess. The rain was knocking the delicate little petals loose which then fluttered down like snow. The air was thick with their scent. I ran to the car, not so much to keep dry, but because it felt good to run, to be alive!

Shhh, This is the transition time. I just heard the conspicuous silence when the bird outside my window quit singing. No, not silence, the crickets are already chirping. After a bit there were a few birds doing their "Good night John-boys." Now the frogs have begun to join the chorus. The owls will be out later. I haven't heard any whippoorwills here since they cut the timber.

Enjoy it.