Heat Wave

In the lake is the only place to be today. Anywhere else is just too hot. Floating around, looking back toward land, I find that Nature has set up a light show. As ripples roll toward the shoreline, the crest of each is reflected onto a tall tree standing where land meets water. Curving lines of light continually cascade down the trunk, making it look like an upended movie marquee. I wonder if the first person to animate the lights of Time Square got the idea from just such a natural occurrence.

That tree affords the only shade on the nearby shore so I leave the water to sit behind it and attempt—again—to paint the water. I’m getting a bit better at it, seeing three colors—pale amber, slate blue, and a deeper blue-green-gray—and the crisscross pattern of the waves. I begin to block out the weeds on the shore but I have to drop my brush and slap my ankles—repeatedly. Seems I’ve either disturbed some tiny, biting insects or arrived just in time for their lunch. They refuse to stop so I retreat to the dock. No more painting that view for me today!

I rub my ankles. They still itch from a previous attack four days prior in Montclair. I had begun to water a corner of my garden when I felt a piercing stab in my right ankle. As I jumped back there were two stabs on the left. I looked down to see a swarm of tiny yellowjacket wasps. The water must have jolted their unseen nest. I ran for the house. Armed with a can of insect spray my husband made certain they wouldn’t attack again. I truly prefer to respect all nature and hate having to kill, but in the past I’ve had allergic reactions to such attacks. Besides, they had declared themselves my enemy.

I wish insects did not find my ankles so attractive.