A Day in June

Hi! Come along, come with me for a walk on this exceptional mid-June day.

 ''And what is so rare as a day in June?
Then, if ever, come perfect days...''*

 

I'll never complain about crappy June weather again [maybe]! The past few days have been so amazing and so perfect. Cool, breezy, sunny.

First, a short walk with me and Mo. He is very little, he cannot walk the almost half mile to the shoreline. But he can enjoy the summer day and munch on glorious tea roses.
 

And we both loved these funny old fashioned moss roses....

 

Now Mo is tucked up for his baby nap,

 

 ...so let's go on on to the beach. And return to our poem:

''Now is the high-tide of the year,
And whatever of life hath ebbed away
Comes flooding back, with a ripply cheer,
Into every bare inlet and creek and bay...''

 The ocean is crystal clear and crisply cold. With ''sequins".

 

 

A quick dip, you ask? Maybe--a wade? The chill feels delightful on winter-boot  weary toes.

 

 

 

The water is so clear we can see these odd black sand deposits that sometimes occur on my usually white sand beach.

It is said the mineral is a gemstone, garnets! Deposited eons ago by a glacier.

The black sand sparkles in the sunlight.

The herring gulls are back from nesting. Some accompanied by their big ugly needy babies!

Gully was here but quite shy....

 

 

There are patches of wash-out ''gravel'', shells, tiny pebbles, seaglass---and a treasured sand dollar! Can you see it? Right in the center of the photo? It is the size of a dime,  maybe.

 

 

Here it is! Perfect. 

'''Tis enough for us now that the leaves are green;
We may shut our eyes, but we cannot help knowing
That skies are clear and grass is growing;
The breeze comes whispering in our ear,
That dandelions are blossoming near,
That the river [ocean] is bluer than the sky,
The heart forgets its sorrow ...'' *

 

 

(Remembering a friend....)

 

 

 

love

 

lizzy

 

gone to the beach.............

 

 

 

 

for those of you who always want to see the ''crowds"...lol.
This is as busy as it gets.
Sunday in June

 

*the poem with the oh so famous quote? I'd have guessed Frost or Whitman, but no:

a long sappy treatise

The Vision of Sir Launfal

by: James Russell Lowell