Premature Summer

[rejectomorph]

The clouds have taken their summer position, hovering over the higher reaches of the mountains. From here, they are difficult to see, being screened by the tall timber. I catch glimpses of them from the rare open fields, or see small, enticing fragments of them through the branches. It seems as though we had but a few weeks of spring this year, and half of those in February. Now, the native wildflowers are wilting, and the brightest color along the roadsides is the yellow of exotic scotch broom. The afternoons already too hot for pleasant walks, I go out in the evenings. I remain discontented by the disruptions this year has brought, even though I know that this weather pattern is as much to be expected in this region as was that more pleasant pattern which prevailed for the two years previous.

Yesterday afternoon, as the strange bird I've been hearing was singing from across the street, I heard an answering call from up the block. The two engaged in call and response for a while, with the occasional duet thrown in, and then the other bird fell silent, or went away. The first continued to sing into the dim evening, once again the sole representative of his kind to be heard among the diverse avian chorus. I've been feeling a lot like that bird must feel, of late.