This is my favorite time of year. The swing of my sentiments has passed through the equilibrium of winter and risen through the doldrums of March and April. It has approached its high point where there is a magnificent pause that lasts from early May to mid-June before the weight of it races back down into the full force of summer.

For me, this pause at the zenith is full of sights, sounds, smells and anticipation. I like everything about it.

The same kind of smoke that is a sign of winter on Islesford is a sign of spring when it drifts from the lobster cookers as you approach Mount Desert Island. My childhood memories of coming back to Maine are evoked whenever I cross the Trenton Bridge at low tide and smell that wood smoke.

By the first of May, Bruce and I have abandoned heating with our wood stove, losing the backdraft of chimney smoke that travels along the roof to our bedroom window. We sleep again with the window open, able to hear songbirds that wake around 4 a.m. The robins are the first to sing followed by the “Old Sam Peabody, Peabody, Peabody” call of the white throated sparrow.

The migrating warblers arrive while the hardwood leaves are still small, providing great opportunities for observing birds before they are hidden by summer foliage. Their colors and activities draw my attention, reminding me to pause in my own busy-ness, to take in what’s going on around me.

The great blue herons are already here with their graceful flight and statuesque stance. I long for their return every spring and I am not disappointed.

The floats are back in the water at the town dock. While I might miss unloading my bags from the boat with a line of helpers on the stairs at the dock, I am getting my legs in shape for summer as I carry my own items up the ramp. Instead of one afternoon boat at 3:30, I now have the option of a 2:30 or 4:30 boat because the Beal and Bunker ferry has switched to its spring schedule. My afternoon choice has just doubled.

Two docks away, one can look inside and see chairs stored upside down on tabletops at the Islesford Dock Restaurant. In the fall, a walk by those windows is depressing, representing another season of fine dining come to an end. To take the path in May is to experience crunchily walking on dried barnacles, fallen from traps that were stored there for the winter and recently moved back into the water. These same traps will be catching the ingredients for lobster rolls in July.

Benches where summer sailors will sit to wait for their crews to show up for a race are first the resting spots for masts to be cleaned and stepped when the sailboats are launched in June. Floorboards in the pottery shop, that popped up from winter storm surges, are being hammered back into place. I can almost hear the old coal dock saying, “Get ready, get busy. Things are about to happen.”

Daffodils and forsythia are just reaching their peak in the first week of May. With them comes the promise of lilacs, lupine, daisies and beach peas that will bloom by the end of the month. The wildflowers in June are spectacular; our island’s reward for waiting so long for spring.

In my own garden the perennials are coming up. Lilies, delphinium, hosta and astilbe are just a few that have survived the winter and will be ready to make a showing in July. I’ve been turning the vegetable garden over a little bit at a time and by the first week of May I have peas, carrots, spinach, arugula and scallions planted.

I know that soon, daily, I will be hearing two of my favorite sounds—the song of the hermit thrush, and the sound of green leaves rustling in the breeze. The first one can never come soon enough, and the second one always takes me by surprise when I notice it for the first time. They both sound like summer to me.

The weeks that bookend a busy summer season are the opposite edges of my emotional pendulum’s trajectory.

At summer’s end I am usually exhausted and ready to have a break from social activities. By Labor Day I get what I think I want and am surprised by how long it takes to adjust to the lonely slowdown. At this end, however, I have more work than I think I can do and yet I don’t feel undone. If anything, I am energized. I am poised at the brink of summer, ready for an exhilarating swing.