I sat on our porch tonight, and listened.

The wind picked up, and set off the gentle music of my wind chime. Birds added their song, trees rustled in the breeze, cars passed by up the street with a low whoosh of tires. In the distance, a train whistle rose and fell, followed by rhythmic clacking along the tracks.

As the light faded, I watched the fairy lights strung in our porch ceiling start to glow and fade, glow and fade, like fireflies.

And then I saw the real thing, one lone lightning bug floating above the lavender.

It was my second sighting this week.

Last night, on a different porch, I got to hang out with some of my favorite people, also known as my book group.

The company, as always, was wonderful.

As the evening ending, I saw a flash of yellow in the front yard, and then another, and another. Lightning bugs!

We all stopped, and looked, downright giddy. 

In that moment, we were not a bunch of women discussing books, and life. 

We were a bunch of little kids, soaking in a bit of June magic.

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Here's a new word for you (and me): "psithurism: a rustling or whispering sound, such as leaves in the wind."

That's from Dictionary.com. You won't find it in Merriam-Webster's online dictionary, although it does make an appearance in the company's podcast, Word Matters. 

It's deemed obscure, but pretty.

Study in starkness 

Closing soon: one of the most beautiful outdoor art exhibits of this (or any) year.

You could call it, “Beauty in the Barren Times.”
Or you could just look up, and take in the treetops before their leaves obscure the view.

Every year when those leaves fall, branches, twigs and trunks stretch across the canvas of the sky, like massive pen and ink drawings.
On a walk home from work last week, I noticed the palest of green creeping in, a sign of changes — and colors — to come.

I started checking our backyard maple every morning. Day by day, the once bare branches filled with deep red buds.

Today we passed cherries and Bradford pears already puffed out in pink and white.

Watching it all unfold is such a lovely rite of spring, but I always remember the barren beauty.

The show’s almost over. Don’t miss it.

A few weeks ago, when the sun hid behind gray clouds for days upon days, a friend said it looked like the sky’s “equivalent of a frown.”

The sun is back, but the world (and especially this country) has given us little to smile about. Maybe that’s why I’m stumbling on smiles in weird places.

For example, while walking to church, I glanced at a soccer ball left in a neighbor’s yard, and there it was: a smiley face.

 

In our front yard, I looked up at the large Christmas ball hanging from a swoop of greens. There it was again: a shiny smiley face:

(Yes, our Christmas stuff is still up, and will be until the temperature creeps above 32.)

Seeing faces in random objects — or dragons and elephants in the clouds — is a phenomenon called pareidolia. Human brains, always looking for patterns, can see a man in the moon, or a friendly face in the front end of this Austin-Healey:

Photo courtesy of grassrootsgroundswell/Wiki Commons

Maybe a designer with a sense of humor gave us that one. Thank you, whoever you are. 
Thanks, too, for countless other designers who add a touch of whimsy to ordinary objects, letting them take you by surprise on an ordinary day.

The world can be a dark place. Keep looking for the light. 

Whimsy served at Holiday Coffee in Ocean City.

Our son found these to liven up paperwork.
 

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For the science behind pareidolia (pronounced parra-DOH-lia or pear-ray-DOH-lia, depending on who you ask), go here:
https://www.ebsco.com/research-starters/health-and-medicine/pareidolia

For information about immigrant incarceration in the United States, including the for-profit prison system, go here:
https://www.detentionwatchnetwork.org/about

Whoa.

So much blue sky. So many towering clouds. 

Looking up has been glorious these past few weeks.
Here are a few reminders that it pays to look down, too. 

 

Beautyberry. So aptly named.

 

Sidewalk shadows

 

Fallen maple

Flowers of remembrance

 Family and friends shared those blooms with the woods, in memory of a dear one who brought so much beauty and love into this world. Her memory will be a blessing.

In the cool of the evening on this very first night of fall, my overgrown front garden called to me.

I’m a fifteen-minutes-spent-weeding-is-better-than-none kind of person, and I gently yanked until it got too dark to tell the keepers from the weeds.

I’m tolerant of many uninvited plant guests — I have birds to thank for some amazing purple asters blooming right now. 

There is one pesky thistle, though, that I wish would stay away. 

Tonight, I reached deep into the grasses to uproot one, and the prickles bit my fingers, even through the gloves. The motion stirred the lavender, and I breathed in the heady, heavenly scent.

Pain. Beauty. Sometimes you find them in the same place.

Sound circle

During the hottest, soupiest summers around here, one of my dear aunts used to say, “This is the worst weather for murder.”

I don’t think there’s any good weather for murder, but we knew what she meant.

On Friday, Chef Nature finally turned off the burner on the soup, and yesterday I got the chance to eat breakfast on our front porch. 

It was a simple spread: egg, bagel, milk and coffee (made every morning by my husband). I read a bit of my latest mystery.* A light breeze lifted the scent of lavender. Our wind chime chimed. Song sparrows sang.

I may become a morning person yet. 

Ask me on Monday.

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My latest mystery is "The Fellowship of Puzzlemakers" by Samuel Burr. A perfect porch read.

Time for another installment of: It Helps When You Can Make Yourself Laugh.

Here’s a (very partial) list of things my eyes and mouth have tripped over:

In the grocery store, I turned down the aisle with boxes of those small, single-serve packages of pretzels, popcorn, chips, etc. I looked up and saw the sign:
                
“Poisoned snacks” 

“That’s frightening,” I thought, before rereading: Portioned snacks. Whew.

—
Glancing at a friend’s phone numbers, I noticed one that’s obsolete, and thought:
 
“I should delete it. That’s their land mine …”

Better not drop that one.

— 

Spotting a shot of the Seattle skyline on TV, I remarked:

“Oh, it’s the Space Noodle.”

(If it’s cooked, they’re really in trouble.)

—

Finally (at least for now), while flipping channels I spotted an odd title for a reality show:

“Vatican House Rules”

I must have had popes on my mind when I read that wrong. Sorry to disappoint, but the show features a real estate expert helping homeowners “unlock their vacation property's full rental potential.”

The Vatican has not joined airbnb.