We've crossed the boundary, into Summer.
Sovereign of seasons, soaked in sun.
From here the year recedes.



Around the Reservoir, another boundary. A fence, but not a shore. Doubtless some overheated summer soldier would dive right in, were it not for the web of metal enforcing the border. Still, you can see right through it, and if you focus between the links, you might forget the edge, projecting thought along with vision, out into the open sea of Summer daydreams.
Dream by day; this night's too short for sleeping.






The open water offers possibilities.
The Reservoir has only recently been completely disengaged from the city's water supply system. In some quarters, this means that something ought to be done with it. Proposals range from sailboats to swamp. While the notion of a wetland with boardwalk is appealing to nature observers, fears of mosquitoes and the West Nile Virus may make it a hard sell. I'm happy enough with it as is. The gulls clustered along the central dike; the Cormorants diving, then reappearing yards away; the sunlight floating on top of the water; these need no intrusion. Only a fence, to separate them from the circling joggers. Everything else is just the dream of another Summer.

Something will happen eventually. It can't go on like this forever. The inner margin, a thin, bricked strip just inside the fence, has been allowed to grow out in recent years. Wildflowers and grasses, but also many trees have sprung up. Various Willows, Elms, and Cottonwoods are thriving, along with the ubiquitous Ailanthus, which seems to appear in any marginal zone. These are large trees, whose roots will compromise the artificial infrastructure. The failing boundary will collapse the distinction between land and water. I would like to watch this happen, but it won't be allowed.




For now, this Summer seems the same as ever: a time to drowse by day, and dream of things that were, or might yet be, before an Autumn breeze brings shivers of reawakening.