Observations Through the Seasons

Mid Summer, July 2026 - Tennessee

The heat has settled in now. No bright warmth of spring, but the deep unmoving heat that hums over the fields from morning until dusk. The air feels heavy, carrying the scent of warm earth, freshly cut grass, and leaves that have spent weeks beneath an unrelenting sun. Afternoon thunderstorms roll through often enough to keep everything green (though they seem to disappear almost as quickly as they arrive), leaving an deafening hum of cicadas in their wake. 

The crape myrtles have finished their show. Their bright pink blossoms now lie scattered beneath the branches while fresh green growth begins to take their place. In their stead, the Rose of Sharon has come into bloom. Along roadsides and fields, the wildflowers have changed with the season. Black eyed Susans have taken over sunny patches, spreading in broad drifts. Pink four o'clocks have begun opening faithfully in the late afternoon, waiting until the worst of the day's heat has passed before unfurling their bright blossoms.

The wildlife has shifted with the weather too. Cicadas have become the soundtrack of every afternoon, their constant chorus rising and falling with the heat. The mornings belong to songbirds while the evenings are claimed by crows and the drift of fireflies through the edges of the yard. Pollinators still work the flowers, though most seem busiest before the day becomes too hot to bear.

Mid summer carries a different feeling than spring. There is less anticipation now and more abundance. Everything that has been growing for months has reached its height, filling every roadside, hedgerow, and woodland edge with life. Yet beneath all that fullness are the first reminders that the wheel is already turning again. Flowers fade as others emerge, seeds begin to bolt, and plants prepare for the seasons still to come. Summer always feels endless while you're standing in it, but the landscape has already begun telling a different story.

The year feels fully awake now. The air has changed in that way it always does around late spring, almost without noticing at first. The mornings are warmer, the evenings linger longer, and the sunlight has begun to take on that heavy golden feeling that tells you summer is standing just around the bend.

Roadsides and field edges have become crowded with life. Hedge parsley is tall and flowering, gathering in soft white sprays along ditches and fences. Narrowleaf plantain has been easy to find too, low to the ground and tucked in all the places people usually walk past. Wild prickly lettuce has started reaching upward everywhere, growing taller and taller and claiming corners of fields before I've even realized how much it has spread.

The magnolias, though sparse in my neighborhood, have been hard to ignore. The beauty of their blossoms always stuns me, oversized, plush and bright against all the green. Some mornings the scent catches in the warm air. Catalpa branches hang low over the creek, their giant fuzzy leaves swaying in the wind. The clusters of flowers are heavily perfumed and fragrant, attracting all manner of insects to buzz about them. Curly dock has gone to seed in many places now, standing dry and rust colored among the grass. Evening primroses have begun appearing in scattered patches. Dandelions are still everywhere too, though many have already gone to seed and drifted off into the wind.

The wildlife feels different now too. More movement. More noise. The birds seem busiest in the mornings before the heat, and in the evening when the sun is going down. Insects are returning in force as well. Bees moving slowly through flowers and butterflies beginning to appear more often.

Everything feels fuller this time of year. Less like spring arriving and more like the landscape has finally settled into itself. I always forget how quickly it happens. One day the trees are only beginning to leaf out, and then suddenly the hills are deep green and everything feels alive all at once. Late spring always feels a little like standing at the edge of something. Like the world is taking a long breath before summer fully arrives.