Hey, June Gray

Another circle ’round the sun brings me back to the shores of Narragansett Bay, fresh from the June Rise on the Mississippi River. The weather is typical for this time of summer as Mother Nature tosses back the last dregs of spring rains. The Narrow River is quiet today – ducklings are dabbling for their mid-day meal while floating lazily down stream with the ebbing tide. Their tail feathers are pointed aloft. The skies are overcast with nary a breeze.

Mid-June in coastal New England towns generates a feeling of leaving something behind – such as the dreary spring rain season. No grief – simple relief. Personally, I feel like a young kid who just pulled down the safety bar on the Ferris Wheel seat. I’m a little nervous as I anticipate the ride ahead when the wheel will rise me higher toward the sun.  I’ll have a great view the horizon and those who live beneath the sky. Summers are brief by the northern seas. The season peaks at the top of the wheel. Then begins a gentle fall in August when I will circle back to to the life I’ve left behind.

As expected, everything is damp and the noun Must takes it’s place ahead of the verb Must. Instead of the Orange Ozone warning of a midwest urban heat inversion – I’m breathing deeply and savoring lungfuls of salty air tinged with the flotsam and jetsam of low tide. The air is rich with a breath all it’s own – a tribute to the ways of wind which usually robs us of the intensity of briny scents. Low tide has an odor that you chew in your mouth as when eating an over-steamed clam. The tidal pools scurry with life. All that dies is quickly devoured by that which lives. It’s a circle – just like the ride on a Ferris Wheel.

The Ferris Wheel begins it’s rotation – the ride begins.