The sun is still high, it's solstice, and it won't set tonight, though at some point it will be down below the level of the next ridge. We don't have a lawn, or a manicured yard, so we're looking out over birch and spruce forest. The hill is steep here, and this is the downhill side, so there's a five-foot drop from the porch to the forest floor. The fireweed are up, about waist-high, but not blooming yet. At least here. Where it's sunnier during the day, they are out in glory. There is a mess of birdseed underneath the bird feeder, which is suspended between the house and largest birch with a jury-rigged nylon rope and carabiner. (That was Jake's invention, so I could easily fill it without having to lift anything.)
Macs is complaining about being evicted from one of the chairs, sitting by my feet until he decides he can't support his own weight anymore and flops down in the sun. I don't envy him his black fur coat, poor cat. He's been fighting again, and has scabs under his coat and on one ear. I wish I could give him his claws back; he came from the pound with the front paws de-clawed. He seems to hold his own, though. I watched him fight with the black and white cat later in the night, and he was initiating all the grappling. Foolish cat.
There are birds singing in the trees, though none of them are brave enough to come to the feeder while Jake and I are sitting there. The neighbors are thankfully quiet; they've been building a second structure next door, and the hammering and pounding and sawing makes us very grateful we'll be moving onto our own land next summer, land large enough that we'll never have to worry about neighbors again.
The sun is warm, and it hasn't been so long since winter that the novelty is lost on me. Until the mosquitos drive us in, I am completely at peace with the world.
