If I had pulled a Rip Van Winkle and just woken from a long sleep, I’d still know the time of year without ever looking at the calendar. Just by the sights, sounds, and scents I gather from my front porch, I’d know it’s summer. Blackberry bushes loaded with green, not yet ripe berries, crowd the fence row. Motorcycles and pick-up trucks towing boats race down the highway in front of my house toward the Illinois River. The smell of honeysuckle and magnolia blossoms tease the air. Lightening bugs twinkle in the night and June bugs bounce against the light above the front door. From my place on the front porch swing, I can hear the baseball game on TV in the family room. Here’s hoping the Cardinals have a great season. As I take a bite of homemade strawberry ice cream, I sigh contentedly, “This is summer.”
She’s come to visit, and after all the ice and snow of last winter, I hope she stays for a long time.