The holiday is over

I'm waiting for the bats to arrive.  I'm waiting for a sunset, too, but the westward falling sun goes from orange to pink to a disappearing act behind the haze from distant fires.  The current acrobatic and erratic flight belongs to the swallows.

I came to the lake to read, to get out of the house.  Funny how 90 degrees with a breeze outside now feels downright pleasant after spending time in the attic; it's all relative, I suppose.  Sitting in the grass, I read one play (Mamet), and then began a second book.  Above the drone of constant traffic passing behind me, the laughter of people playing lawn games, and the squeals of happy children, I can make out a chirp.  Chirping.  In the grove of trees in front of me.  Osprey.  I learned the voice only recently, same location, perhaps a nest; no one dives for fish, they just continue to chirp.

The sun gets more brilliant behind me, so I go in search of a better view.  This is just before it disappears, going from a pink disk, to a rectangle peaking out between the clouds, to...nothing.  No sunset.  Just a grey and pale pink that linger in the sky for the next hour as the air around grows thicker.

Disappearing Act, July 5/L Herlevi 2015

I walked the lake in the morning, the dry grass littered with beer caps and the spent remains of last night's fireworks.  Now as the long holiday weekend comes to a close, a few people remain in the water, ducks tuck their heads back and rest.  Footsteps mark the sand, the remnants of earlier holiday traffic.  Fish jump near the shore, in the distance headlights break through the trees as cars wind their way around the park, heading home.  Small groups of crows fly overhead, heading to bed.  A lone man appears in the water, then suddenly swims, out to the buoy and back.  The swallows disappear, leaving a void in the sky, and still, no bats.

A swarm of gnats gathers above my head.  Soon I have my own personal column of insects.  They go up and up.  High above, a single plane flies west to east, a tail of light stretched out behind, catching the light of the sun I can't see, looking like a comet.  Then the sky is empty once more, silent, save Venus.  An hour later a second "star" appears: Jupiter.  The two now growing in distance since their earlier conjunction.

Personal gnat swarm, July 5/L Herlevi 2015

I switch benches, the swarm follows, or I gain another.  A couple stops, to my left, and stands gazing into the cedar grove.  Someone asks what they are looking at: two raccoons.  I turn to look, but don't see them.  Moments later I hear a growl and then a squeal, and turn back to see as the two chase one another around the base of a tree and then disappear.

The bats never arrive, and I finally leave when the insects start bouncing off of my face.  I go the long way home, no rush to arrive. A blue and orange glow overtakes the haze, engulfs the full dome of sky; luminous.  The planets increase in brightness, the only dance on view; no other stars, no moon, yet.  I pass by overgrown gardens, brown and wilting: everyone longing for water.

In the distance, the boom of another round of fireworks begins.  Closer to home, it's still too hot to sleep.