"If a June night could talk, it would probably boast it invented romance."

It's true.

June in New York is like a dream.

I wish I could capture it on film, but it's just not possible. You wouldn't hear the spring peepers who sing from the pond. The sound of Fox Creek splashing through the valley. The birds who don't sleep and beckon their lovers from branches and nests. Night darkness twinkles with little lights as fireflies light up the quiet twilight. Trees stand tall and guard us. Stars are innumerable.

Pure enchantment.

During the day, I forget about this serenity. When I'm weary and I look to my sister for a knowing nod of encouragement, she smiles, her eyes twinkle and she nods. When my daughter wails in exhaustion, and pulls my hair in angst, I beg for bedtime to arrive early. My heart gets heavy and I seek to hide under pillows and behind closed doors. Among these hillsides, I stumble on forgotten memories, old friendships, echoes of first loves and imprints of pain. It's all here, in this little valley where I spent 22 years of living.

Then the night settles, an enduring friend stepping to my side to give me room to breathe.

Rest is not idleness, and to lie sometimes on the grass on a summer day listening to the murmur of water, or watching the clouds float across the sky, is hardly a waste of time.  ~John Lubbock