Choices on long days

It’s the first full day of summer, yesterday’s midday solstice behind us. I have 15 hours and 38 minutes to work with, or play with. What should I do as the sun takes its leisurly most northerly path, from sunrise in the northeast to sunset in the northwest?

Should I share the day with the skippers in the hay, trying to match their nonchalant ways as they bounce from daisy to daisy, drawn to oxeyes? Maybe I’ll look for agates in the dry creek, though maybe I’ll wait for the next hard rain to tumble them into view.

Should I ease into the morning with a cup of coffee on the quiet porch, or with a fishing rod on a quiet lake, the silence broken only by the call of a loon? That could also be saved for sunset, though I’m leaning towards a trout stream, watching brookies break the surface for mayflies, and for my imagination if not my imitation.

Also near sunset I could choose to walk with the cooling of the evening, perhaps seeing a deer doing the same as it tiptoes through corn rows or pauses in the fold of ferns to query my presence.

And the long hours between sunrise and sunset? What about them? I’ll watch a catbird at the bird bath, then walk a trail and make notes of tiny blossoms on brambles where green blackberries will begin their journey to sweetness.

Should I mow lawn or drive through the countryside and smell fresh-mown hay? I could follow a bumblebee or look for a walking stick—one the insect, the other a walking aid. I’ll check the bluebird box.

So many ways to go on long days in the greenness of June as nature takes up a myriad of matters in the extended light. The seasons turn on the solstice and the sun trails the corresponding path, keeping all in balance

Is there a solstice, a turning point, a path and balance in my own life? Am I on course, connecting the natural world with my inner self? There’s plenty of time to find out today.