It seems that summer has haltingly arrived in Michigan, following a long, cool spring that lingered well past its welcome and reminded me of the Bard’s lament. This local lake is, fortunately, only a short drive for me.
O, how this spring of love resembleth
The uncertain glory of a May day;
Which now shows all the beauty of the sun,
And by and by a cloud takes all away.
In the light, the earth remains our first and our last love. Our brothers and sisters are breathing under the same sky as we; justice is a living thing. Now is born that strange joy which helps one live and die, and which we shall never again postpone to a later time.
Albert Camus, The Rebel