Late Summer

I know it's nearing late summer because I first heard the crickets last night - the katydids have been out for a while now, as well as the mysterious buzzing insects. Although it's hard to hear the crickets over the noise from the freeway and the egregious air conditioners (does one really need to put on the AC when it's 65 degrees at night?), they are a welcome reminder of nights in Ohio, driving past weedy thickets (just ripe for development) of orange and red and yellow leaves and little blue periwinkle flowers, eating locally grown roasted lima beans and potatoes, enjoying the smell of a good early Macintosh apple - the smell that's gone once you've washed it and cut it up.

Five years ago on a white water rafting trip in Montana I made a remark about hating nature that's become infamous among my friends, has become one of those things that characterizes me. I think that's going away. After nearly a year spent in New York my thirst for nature has become pretty apparent.

There are some who wish for wilderness though what they really want is Central Park, where every rock and tree was artfully placed by very human hands. Then there is the goddess of storms.