impeccable | imˈpekəb(ə)l | adjective (of behavior, performance, or appearance) in accordance with the highest standards of propriety; faultless

ORIGIN mid 16th century (in the theological sense): from Latin impeccabilis, from in- not + peccare to sin.

There is seemingly no distinct (or meaningful) juncture of transition from springtime to summer apart from the Summer Solstice that historically marks the onset of summer at the time of the longest day, about June 21 in the northern hemisphere and December 22 in the southern hemisphere.

The Summer Solstice this year is Wednesday, June 21 at 10:57 am. The summer solstice, also called the festival solstice or midsummer, occurs when one of Earth’s poles has its maximum tilt toward the Sun. It happens twice yearly, once in each hemisphere.

It is ironic that there is any hesitancy about the beginning of summer when it is related to midsummer which, as is plainly apparent, is the middle part of summer. Yet except for the extraordinary mathematicians and astronomists among us, most of us are unlikely to target the balanced date on which summer begins (which I presume is another indistinguishable date such as when the Winter Solstice first reverses). Nor, you might very plausibly suggest, is there any evident necessity to specify the exact day that summer begins (that is, apart from my preoccupation with impeccability).  Unlike our animal cousins, it’s not as though we humans are predicted to illustrate many unique characterististics peculiar to the change of season. By contrast you may be someone who thrives upon changing apparel from one closet to another for the season, respecting the adage,”Never wear white after Labour Day!” For my part (and of equal though doubtful enthralment) I confess I find it truly relieving to discharge this former astronomic conundrum (that is, the start of summer) by the simple acknowledgement of the abuse of the term midsummer.

It remains nonetheless relevant to me to settle this and other details affecting my “behavior, performance or appearance” (as in “impeccable”). I have lately discovered to my inviting intrigue that my purported facility with adaptation is more probably than not a disguise. This is no big deal; we all maintain thoughts submerged within us. No, it wasn’t the accomplishment of adaptation that mattered; rather it was the manifestation of its content and detail that piqued. This is what takes time and input. To set those derivative pins properly – shall I say, impeccably? The boundaries of adaptation are the same as those within one’s normal sight. But translating that information “within” from “without” is a task of some weight and demand. Acclimation is neither sudden nor ritual; in fact, quite the opposite.

Discounting the effective date of our contractual rental obligations on November 1st last, the exact date that we moved here is readily identifiable as the date we returned home in April; viz., the 27th. From that date until very recently we have been consumed by an endless agenda. It is too boring to account those details.  And while I know I mentioned detail was important, it is only those details of artistic quality which are presently required. This particular evolution of which I now speak is very much overtaken by art. The artistry is the talent or “mechanical acumen” (if you prefer) to overcome whatever obstructs one’s clarity of vision.

One’s visionary capacity is not unlike so many others at this stage of life; namely, purely adventitious.  And – more to the point – afforded one at no charge. This is not however to mislead the dear Reader by suggesting there has been no expense. The burden (if you will) was the unwritten mandate to wait.  Whether patiently or not is your choice. If (as I have done) you opted for a large platter of impatience, then you too were reminded of the narrowing market for the elderly. There is not a lot of entertainment to disentangle oneself from the daily imperatives to which one must succumb. Gazing upon a vast meadow or cultivated rows in a distant field adjoining the casually flowing Mississippi River is Nature’s speedy reminder of life’s blunt evolution, all tied up with fire, air and water, growth and reproduction,  the change of seasons, the rotation of the planets and goodness knows what other powers exist even further beyond the galaxy and then some. The image is adorned by the magical flights of tiny yellow birds thoughout the nearby abandoned field. The red-winged blackbirds sparkle the day with their grinder-chirp. The enormous Canada geese proclaim their shoreline dominance and superiority like jungle lions.