Summer Nights

I used to go out in the dark of a summer night, and sit on the front porch and watch the cars, fewer the later it was, and also to watch the insects at the street light at the end of our drive along the main street. And watching from the dark into those pools of light.  Those nights in New Jersey, the air warm and rich with sounds, it gave depth and meaning to summer. And from my post I would hear the cars and trucks humming along out on the highway, distant dogs barking, and occasional cat fight. Lights flickering in a darkened house, as the people watched television.

And sometimes I would walk down the street, from one pool of light to another, relishing the safety and comfort of the dark. The streetlights casting dappled shadows onto the sidewalks, crickets and cicadas chirping the night along, the heat rising from the ground.  And if you went out to a field, the rabbits darting out of the way, the fog rising just to waist height. Walking into the backyard, into the darkness, following the fireflies.

At the shore,waves crashing on the beach, ghost crabs running , and you just standing there understanding why they earned that name, the appear and disappear like a specter.

Here in Maine, at least where I live a summer night seems much less rich . It's quieter, the crickets and other insects do not have that almost rain forest quality that the Pines Barrens had, there you felt the Jersey Devil. Here it seems more normal, whatever that means. Loons maniacally calling, their tremolos echoing across the water, distant laughter erupts out from vacationers.  It's quiet to some degrees that could lull you into some security, but  you don't or can't. Here you can hear something coming at you. A mouse seems giant. And it's darker, but the darkness is what makes it more richer. You can see the stars, really feel them.

A couple weeks ago deep in the night a porcupine was screaming I got up and followed, walking in the cool of the dark, seeking. The damp grass brushing against my legs, until I came to the tree the porcupine had gone to, its teeth chatting.

Thunderstorms in the night. The stars disappearing, increasingly darker, distant rumble of thunder.  The wind freshens,distant flash, more rumbling. The first drops hitting , tapping, then drumming, faster,harder, a lull, then the rain increases in intensity, more flashing, thunder louder, coming almost immediately with each flash. Dishes and other things clinking with the thunder, the house shakes.

Sometimes you must go out and stand in the dark, watching, listening, smelling. Meteors  or stars, or distant lightning. The quiet draws you out.  Morse code from the fireflies calls you, you slip into a time many years ago, when a warm summer night was magic, and now those years later, the magic comes back.

Paddling along in my canoe, the night closing in, stars on the water, making it look, no, feel like you're paddling through them. The tree line is blacker than black, the twilight lighting the way