Summer seems ahead of itself this year. In the sense that the appearance of wildflowers seems much earlier than usual. By at least a month, it appears to us. Could be the weather has played a part there. High humidity, heat, both sun and rain in ample amounts. A formula for growth. But whether that explains the acceleration in the appearance of wildflowers we're accustomed to seeing later in the season is unfathomable to us.

We're certain that sunflowers in the ravine now showing off their golden radiance are making an early appearance, and that's true for Queen Anne's lace, as well, although it's not just in the ravine, needless to say, it's everywhere. And goldenrod, already ripening? Ragweed already in evidence? Seems much, much too soon. They generally appear in late August, early September, along with asters.

But there they are all, in early abundance, so who are we to question? Today's weather, like the days preceding, is so humid that even exiting the moderately cool air conditioning of the house in early morning feels as though we're entering a veritable steambath. It's a sensation that reminds us of Tokyo in the summer, when at night we used to take long, hours-long rambling walks all over the vicinity close to where our house was located and sometimes wearingly beyond.

Today once again we got 'caught' in a bit of a rainfall, a pop-up shower, as we call them. One minute the sun is out, the next, swift winds bring in dark clouds and rain falls. It rained for hours last night again, something that has become a regular pattern lately, including violent thunderstorms so the atmosphere is thick with moisture and so is the ground and everything growing on it.

But all is not well in the ravine. There are a great many dead trees. All ash, stricken by the Emerald Ash borer, which has swept through the area, killing ashes. And it's dreadfully sad to see those trees go. Some of them struggle to survive by sending up little branches low on their stricken trunks, hoping to beat the odds, and some send up new growth directly from the forest floor, hard by the dying tree.

But it's futile, and the sight of all those trees no longer casting their green canopy skyward is humbling.