Tranquil stream

This was one of those days in which not much happened, save work. Despite the temptation of the fine weather, I managed to crank out a lot of hopefully inspired or, at least, coherently organized, words, and when I simply had nothing left in the verbiage tank, I went out for the usual walk. I could have featured an image of a Spicebush Swallowtail butterfly drinking nectar from a red rose, a Painted Skimmer dragonfly landing on a bamboo garden stake, a too-blurry Ruby-throated Hummingbird hovering by a Hosta bloom, a Pickerel Frog scanning its domain from a streamside rock, or any of a number of other pictures I took, but instead, I chose this one. It's a shot of the lower end of the Green Falls River, which, I just learned, is actually supposed to be called the Green Fall River, no "s," something that flies in the face of tradition around here, even if, according to the old maps, the singular is correct. By whatever name, the sometimes rushing river is little more than a gentle stream these days—and the perfect emblem of a gentle nearly-midsummer afternoon.