The foxhound out on a summer night

 Today I tumbled straight from one job into the next, with only the briefest of pauses for a quick scrambled-egg supper. I stayed typing in my chair while Patrick put each of the kids to bed, filling his evening with pyjamas and cozes and bedtime stories while I listened to councilors debate. So when Eevee stretched out her long paws and put them on the door with a wheedly little whine I said yes, and put my work on hold.

We stepped outside into that backwards time of night that feels dark when you're inside, but light when you're outside. The sky still held a bit of light and it was not too dark, yet, to follow my dog down a woodsy path. Fireflies twinkled madly, and I laughed to myself as I remembered the first time Pascal saw them alight in a field. (He watched the lights appear and disappear, glowing here and glowing there. He clung to my neck for a while, and then asked, in a voice absolutely shattered with shock, how they could teleport.)

Eevee's nose was keeping her busy, whooshing into bushes and snapping into pointer pose, and bats swooped and flapped overhead. Out in the river, a beaver's head appeared and then slipped back down underwater. A frog leaped, plooping into the water. Squirrels chased each other through the trees, and, according to Eevee's constant alerts, bunnies were lurking in almost every shadow.

The world aches and horrifies me far too often.
The news is harsh and people are harsher.

But every now and then, taking a walk can feel like velvet. The evening air tastes sweet, and something flits and flashes through the trees. And every twist of the path is magic.

xo.

First Fireworks After Covid

The eastern sky was a periwinkle blue, then purple, then navy.

In the west, streaks of pink and yellow and faded to grey.

The park air was heavy with the scent of bug spray, but bright with the sound of laughter and shouts of hello. Friends offered welcome, sharing blankets and Off and snacks. Osprey peered nervously down from their perch.

 In small-town style, kids ran and found each other, gleefully hugging friends they hadn't seen in a scant week since school closed for the summer. They played on swings and monkey bars, squealing and shrieking and loving the strange magic of being out late, and being out late with everyone.

It felt like the entire town was there, hunkered down on blankets, relaxed into camp chairs, perched on picnic tables. 

Somebody lit whizz-bangs in the tennis court, an appetizer of delight that set off little waves of glee. "Was that the fireworks?" a high little voice asked, and a chuckle rippled kindly in its wake.

And then the first firework shot into the sky, fizzling and sssh-ing and exploding with a blam.

All eyes were transfixed, as the whole town stared at the lights shimmering and booming and blooming in the sky.

I think the firework technician had the best view. Lights playing and dancing across a thousand uplifted faces; the crowd plunging into darkness and then suddenly alight with awe and joy.

The fireworks were beautiful.

But a park full of people sparkling with wonder? Glory.