Summer snuck up on me.

Two days ago, I drove down to the lake and hiked along the trail through the woods to the point that juts out into the middle and I skipped a couple of flat stones. The water was smooth and clear and still, and the shoreline was nothing but trees. I listened to music with the windows down on the way home.

Yesterday, I build a campfire in the circle of stones I made during quarantine a couple of years ago. The flames crackled and glowed in the twilight, and the smoke drifted away on the wind. Tiny bugs swarmed for our eyes and ears and noses as the sun went down. The dog stretched out on the bluegrass at my feet, tucked her gray-flecked nose between her paws. I flopped down on my back beside her and looked up at the trees, tracing the gaps between branches, picking out the outlines of individual leaves. Behind them, the sky faded to purple, and then to dusky indigo, and then to black.

This evening I stripped down and jumped into the swimming pool after sunset and looked up at a dense canopy of stars. The water was cold at first, but swimming around in a couple of familiar circles helped my body adjust.

I can’t see very well without my glasses, but my brain still made triangles. We haven’t seen a sky this clear out here in a long time. It’s lovely.

I hope it’s a good night.