Last night I stood on the patio in my backyard and breathed in summer.

The sun had slipped toward the west, casting a pink glow to the evening.

In the cool of twilight I relaxed and let go of the busy-ness of the day.

If there were an adult version of the children’s book Goodnight Moon, it could have been me.

Goodnight roses.

Goodnight green grass.

Goodnight little squirrels chittering in the tree.

Goodnight flowers in pots,

And flowers in beds.

Goodnight Mrs. Fox

Go home to your babies.

Goodnight robins dive-bombing my head.

Wait a minute! 

Where’s the reverie in that?

Dive-bombing my head?

Yes, the serviceberry trees are full of red berries and the birds are crazy for them, though they may be pushing it just a bit. Another couple of days and the ripeness will be perfection. The birds seem unable to wait.

One by one they screech onto the branches and pluck off as many berries as they can carry.

In an instant, my quiet patio turns into Denver International Airport on the day before Thanksgiving.


When the serviceberries are ripe, the birds are happy. Thrilled really.

Those little red globes must be delicious.

And what a treat. Something so wonderful, so special you hardly have words for it. You just know you must revel in the moment and take full advantage of this amazing gift.

I can totally relate.

It’s how I feel about raspberries.

And summer.