High blue summer

High blue summer. A tiger-striped butterfly samples the grass where the mower has just been. Even my beagle is drunk on the resin scent of pine. On such a day, how can we concentrate on the world's racing pulse? Time to slow and ponder, meander and listen to the stars.

Oh, those deadlines!

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Carol King on the Cosmic Phone

The moon is waxing toward summer here in North Florida. By the end of this month, we'll be in shorts every day till Hallowe'en. Desperate attempts to beat the heat and still achieve at least one task a day will begin very soon.

But for now, it's cool nights, a waxing crescent, and whip-poor-wills calling at night, joined by the voices of new residents in the neighborhood hedges. Two nights ago, an owl inserted it's call in-between the dulcet notes of an American idol teenager-of-late trying to rediscover the magic of Carol King. "It's too Late, Baby," the birds might be calling us to renewal. They're certainly warning us to pay attention, now, while the Earth spins its warm-weather magic for us in this semi-tropical climate. To miss nothing on the long upbeat to summer.

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