Slumber of the Woodland

The Edge Of A Mill

You wake up under a shady willow with a vague semblance of what you had dreamt.

You have dozed off again. And no wonder, there is a good book in your lap and your favorite songs are still crackling through your earbuds. You ought to replace them, they are going bad. You pull them out and decide to listen to nature's music instead. The soft gurgle of the pond coupled with catkins rustling against each other has always been your favorite blend of sounds. Every now and again your ear is filled with the nearly undetectable buzz of a cicada humming past. You aren't quite sure, but you think that the last bug to flitter by may have been a bumblebee in search of a flower to land upon. The springtime has brought a host of such flowers—lilac, daisy, honeysuckle, a sprinkle of nannyberry, and a dash of virginia rose add pops of color to the lawn. Beneath the tree clover and dandelion grow in dense clusters, growing more sparse as they span away from the tree. Further off in the rolling field is a host of meadowsweet and steeplebush just getting ready to sprout. You pluck a clover and twirl it between your fingers.

A squirrel scrambles down the tree and flicks his tail at you. And when you go to snap a photo, he has the audacity to toss an acorn at you with a chitter before frantically scuttling off. For that reason, you preferred the rabbits.

You lean back against the tree and look at the sky, soon the sound of children laughing overpowers the bird calls and pond babble. Two boys fly kites shaped like dragonflies as a younger girl with blonde pigtails and a sundress blows a cloud of bubbles. She calls for the boys to come try to catch them before they pop. The boy with the red hair and dinosaur t-shirt tells her that they are too busy. The older boy with the blonde hair tells her to ask Katie. Sooner or later she'd invite a friend over to help her catch butterflies as she does every Saturday afternoon. But until then she could use some company, so you offer to join her. She smiles cheerfully and tells you that her name is Louisiana-Piper. You tell her yours and say that you've never met a girl named Louisiana before. She giggles and hands you a bubble wand, instructing you on how to use it. You keep her entertained until Katie arrives. Just as you start to leave, they ask you to help them catch butterfly that has flown out of reach. You lose track of time. Eventually the blonde boy, who you have come to know is her brother, Parker, calls her to follow him home. Faintly, you miss being that young.

You pick up your book and watch a sneeze of dandelion seeds take to the air. They coast lazily about, seeking good places to land. You mark your page and tuck it safely away in your bag. It is nearly eight thirty but it still not quite dark yet, the days are growing longer and you know now that spring is fading away. You will miss it of course, but the summer solstice has its own glories that you enjoy almost as strongly as vernal ones.

You stretch your arms and decide that your time at the park is done for the day. You walk home with the twilight in its second stage. There is a deep blue in the sky, pushing the colors of the sunset down. A few clouds cluster near the drooping sun as a few stars pop into view. You feel bad because your parents are probably worried, you always seem to spend too much time at the park and arrive home when there's more navy in the sky than oranges and golds.

When you get home you see your mother and her friend just beginning to fold up a picnic blanket. Fleetingly, you wonder why they didn't accompany you to the park, the scenery over there was much more suitable for an outdoor lunch. Your neighbor is also packing away his lemonade stand, he offers you a cup. Deciding that it would be a nice way to end a fine May evening, you flip him a quarter and take a cup. You watch the sun dip completely below the horizon as sugary citrus explodes on your tongue. As the neighbor kid retreats into his house—no doubt rushed by his father calling him a fourth time—you wander into your back yard. A week or so from now, fireflies will dance in between butterfly bushes and garden gnomes. You think that you might catch a few if you find the time, but you have promised your father that you would help put up some summer décor. Your grandmother has been particularly adamant about trying something she'd seen on Pinterest. She has been asking your father to save small jars and bottles so that you can make strings of lights of them. She tells him that your grandfather has a knack for such things and can help put it together. Though you don't fancy actually putting the lights up, you think that they will add a nice, almost rural, touch to the yard. You finish your lemonade. Though the night is early, you can hear the yip of a coyote.