Tilting Toward the Sun.

It’s the longest day of the year. The sun is in it’s southernmost extreme. In other words, Happy Summer Solstice, hippies.

It’s nice to know, scientifically, that summer is upon us. Although, around here, we don’t need Milankovitch cycles to know it should be hot. Because it’s hot.

The jalapeno plant is bursting with peppers. The crepe myrtles are exploding in pinks. And it’s officially looking like summertime.

No one knows any of this better than the birds on our front porch.

They have been with us since late March, singing away, building nests (2), making babies (7), making messes (craploads), and generally being super domestic.

The momma bird is incredibly vigilant, kinda mean, and totally committed to her nest. Because of these qualities, this is honestly the best photo I could get of the “babies”, who aren’t really babies anymore.

Even though we can’t get too close, we have a clear view of them from our wavy antique windows. And we’ve been watching them as the days have become longer, and they’ve become bigger. Noticing how the tiny birds of yesterday have quickly become squawking teenagers, outgrowing their little nest, but still remaining, mouths wide open, yelling for nourishment. Obnoxious.

The other day, Harry said, “They all look squished in there. They should just fly off to get more room.” Yes. Oh little birds, it’s time to move on. The season is changing. See what else is out there.

And then, as if on cue, yesterday evening, they all left.

Summer is here.

Soundtrack: Summertime, by Josh Rouse