Oxygen drunk, Wilbo leaves the North Pier, Grand Haven, MI.

That American flag posted by the beach house is waving in the wind,
fully extended. Resident here put out special houses on poles for the
purple martins, assemblages of white plastic gourds with small
entrance holes. The second day of summer approaches completion, yet I
don't feel as free and all into summer as those kite surfers wisking
over the waves. Fishermen are marching out to the pier with poles,
wheelbarrows and nets. A fisherman preparing for catfishing brought up
a score of alewives in his bait net, the most I've seen in a bait net
in years. It's beautiful seeing those purple martins cutting into the
wind, and then pause their wings stiffly extended and float on the
wind. I had lunch at the beach, walked the pier, sat and let the wind
cleanse an aura of something off my skin. But have I given myself into
summer and allowed myself to lose my mind in it. Not yet. It will take
me until July for that.