The wheel of summer turns slowly but inexorably. Corn in the fields is now waist high, the second brood of several species of birds is close to fledging, and the lake is busy with crafts of all kinds: elegant gliding sailboats and zippy PWCs, inboards and outboards, putt-putt fishing boats cranking out their nets. Meanwhile the sun has been slowly, inexorably moving, too. Where once it dipped behind the finials of my neighbors' porch, it now sets in the corner of my own, and turns the glass candle holders on the table to colors they've not displayed since they were molten. Peace reigns over the lake at evening. Purple Martins swoop after lacewings in mid-air, their vesper-song mingling with the muted laughter of children splashing in the shallows further down the shore. The fragrant smoke of a backyard bonfire drifts lazily by, and the last rays of fading sunset gutter out.
The Cloud Messenger (Meghadūta) is a lyric poem by the respected Indian poet, Kālidāsa. The poem centers around a yaksa in exile. Longing for his beloved, waiting for him on a Himalayan mountain, he asks a cloud to take a message to her. The sights he tells the cloud it will see on its way make up most of the poem.
The idea of recording observations appeals to me. I thought The Cloud Messenger was the perfect title for a blog about the journey that we all make as we move through our days.
I'm a baby boomer who grew up dancing in the streets of Detroit during the classic Motown years, lived beside the Rocky Mountains for many years, now retired and living (and writing full time) in S. Ontario. I have one blog for rock 'n' roll oldies, and one for nature, poetry and life along the Lake.