The seemingly eternal twilight of the midsummer night is ripe with the calls from sparrows and finches, We can hear their hurried movement among bramble and bracken. A doe is trying to draw our attention away from the kid she keep hidden. The forest path meanders down to the lake and we pass through the wood, barefoot on the pine-needle carpet.
When we reach the shore we take care not to disturb the mallard couple resting in the shadow under the willow with their ducklings. Undressed we enter the deep-blue water. In the dusk it resembles ink, and the waves we are making are calligraphed circles, made with utmost precision. When swimming at night you do it gently, slowly slipping through the water.
When we come back to our cabin the first rays of dawn already color the treetops in gold.
shortest of nights —
magpies building their nest
in willow and oak
Merril wants us to write about nature especially keeping in mind all the words that are being forgotten in these days of technology at dVerse Haibun Monday. This haibun is actually more a conglomerate of different memories from various Midsummer nights than one single event.
June 24, 2019