South end of Canandaigua Lake, Bare Hill and Vine Valley, looking toward Canandaigua, New York
JUNE EVENING
Its evening on the farm,
The sounds of day are still;
Down by the woodland pasture
There calls a ship-poor-will.
(Actually beyond Sennett’s at Bristol Springs)
The trees beyond the gate,
Back giants of the night; (The Park)
With dense and inky mass
Shut all the north from sight.
A little mother owl
Must have a home nearby;
Her fuzzy furry brood
Wake up with dismal cry.
There’s one upon our house
(He also came down on the porch later.)
Exploring with big eyes;
A silent little ball
Outlined against the skies.
In darkened fields around
Are tiny flashing lights;
Wee firefly decorations
Of calm sweet summer nights.
The low melodious music
Of gentle evening’s breeze
Is whispered softly downward
From tops of rustling trees.
The daylight world’s asleep;
The farmers are in bed.
My thoughts to God I turn
By evening’s magic led.
Tonight God seems so near
I almost touch His hand.
There’s mystery in God,
More than I understand.
Photo above: Source – From the personal postcard collection of B. J. Johanningmeier