For early summer, let’s skim the stones across the waters of several Mindful Walker topics.

Honoring the First American Prisoners of War: The words “freedom” and “Independence Day” are inextricably linked, but how often on the Independence Day weekend did any of us think about those who gave their lives for the cause of American freedom from the rule of a monarch? The Prison Ship Martyrs Monument, at Brooklyn’s Fort Greene Park, is one of the most moving places to understand and contemplate this sacrifice (see “In Our Midst: The Prison Ship Martyrs Monument,” on Mindfulwalker.com). This hallowed place honors the more than 11,500 prisoners who perished aboard the ships on which the British confined them in New York’s waters during the Revolutionary War. Within a crypt buried at this monument lay the remains of thousands of the captives. In August, an annual event will provide an opportunity to honor these first American prisoners of war.

This is a neglected tragic chapter of United States history. Recently, a commenter, Christine, shared on Mindfulwalker.com about how her ancestor, Nathan Ainsworth, was among those who succumbed while British soldiers held him as a prisoner. Ainsworth, born in 1740, died between 1776 and 1777 aboard a prison ship, a genealogy site indicates.

In late August, the Society of Old Brooklynites plans to hold its 106th annual tribute to the prisoners at the memorial in Fort Greene Park. (The society posts information about its events on its Facebook page.) Any of the prisoners could have escaped confinement and horrid conditions if they swore allegiance to the British crown, but few chose to do that. Instead, they died from starvation, disease, extreme heat or cold, or other causes in confinement off New York’s shorelines, only to become one of the most important, and yet least told, chapters of heroism in human history.

A Real Nowhere Land: When Patrick Webb hears an architect or designer talk of creating a “clean look,” he says it makes him cringe. For those who have felt uninspired or worse about the design and features of the many glass and metal towers going up in a city or town near you, Webb’s words, in an essay, “An Architectural Utopia,” on his blog, will likely reaffirm your feelings that these places leave you cold. He critiques the prevailing architectural styles as producing a sterile built environment of “no place” and “no one.” Certainly, one could argue that New York City has lost much neighborhood character and architectural distinctiveness in the construction of many glass towers where buildings of rich ornament, decoration, craftsmanship, and materials once were.

“Clean” is code language for sparse, minimalist design, says Webb, a traditional and ornamental plasterer who teaches college classes in architectural plastering in Charleston, S.C. Webb hearkens back to a “pogrom against ornament” having its headwaters in the famous Adolf Loos lecture of 1910, when Loos decried ornament as “degenerate.” Loos proclaimed, “We have out-grown ornament, we have struggled through to a state without ornament. Behold, the time is at hand, fulfillment awaits us. Soon the streets of the cities will glow like white walls.” Webb charts the “extreme simplification” that followed in the Bauhaus school and International Style.

Ultimately, Webb scorns the view that contemporary architecture is progressive. He sees a situation in which many architects turn out multimillion-dollar complexes using “high-embodied energy materials” of glass, concrete, and metal alloys that depend on too much burning of fossil fuels to function and who design buildings that are so free of cultural influences and craft they can be “plugged into any major city.” His argument is compelling. Walking along some streets and looking at various new buildings of SoHo, West 57th Street, or Williamsburg in Brooklyn, one could easily ask, “Am I in Tokyo? Beijing? London?” Seeing the photos of some newer buildings elsewhere, from Rafael Viñoly’s shimmering glass “Walkie Talkie” building in London to the prison-evoking office structure, called “2226,” in Lustenau, Austria, consider how many people will stand before such places in 100 years and admire them. The picture isn’t promising.

Patrick Webb laments the design of new buildings with “sparse, minimalist design” that are bereft of craft and cleansed of ornament. An example is this sterile glass tower in Manhattan.

Contemporary towers going up in New York and other cities and towns around the world so rarely have the expressiveness and beauty of ornament such as these cherubs on the Alwyn Court building in Manhattan. The Alwyn Court was constructed in 1907-1909.

Sunrise, Sunset: The Summer Solstice this year occurred on June 21, marking the day of longest daylight in the Northern Hemisphere. This is when the sun reaches the farthest north in relation to the Earth and the North Pole tilts directly toward the sun. In New York, the Solstice arrived at 6:51 a.m., Eastern Daylight Time. These weeks of July are for savoring sunrises, sunsets, and the lengthy daylight that provides a sense of abundant light at each end of the day. This is surely apparent to those who fish, farm, head to offices and workplaces very early, play evening softball, linger at cafes as the sun goes down, or anyone who studies charts and timetables as sunrise and sunset geeks do.

High summer truly is a time of light. Each day during July, we lose only between under a minute to just under two minutes of daylight – for example, July 17 has 1.26 minutes less of daylight than July 16 – as the sun winds its path in a southerly direction in relationship to the Earth. On the day of the Summer Solstice, New York saw 15 hours, 5 minutes, and 39 seconds of daylight, as the sun rose at 5:25 a.m. and set at 8:31 p.m. On July 17, the time of daylight is 14 hours, 45 minutes, and 21 seconds – 20 minutes and 18 seconds less than the day of the Summer Solstice, 27 days ago. By the end of July, the times of sunrise and sunset are noticeably different than late June. But make no mistake about it: We have much daylight to enjoy the many pleasures of summer.

Sweet Notes: It may have been the influence of a lyric long ago from Yusuf Islam, then known by his stage name of Cat Stevens: “I listen to the wind come howl, telling me I have to hurry. I listen to the robin’s song, saying not to worry.” Ever take stock of what birdsong can mean in an average day? The daily songs and chirps of the birds are a beautiful, companionable, steadying, and comforting sound in our surroundings each day.

From the time of its arrival in the spring migration, a Carolina Wren outside a window of my home has been singing a quick, sweet, and melodious sound, from daybreak to dusk, no matter if the day is pleasantly warm or humid and showery. The Carolina Wren is a small, stocky bird with a long tail and long down-curved bill, according to the Cornell Lab of Ornithology. The uplifting, almost-winnowing song this wren makes is almost like a tiny horse has gotten inside this little bird and just wants to sing, hour after hour. Only the males Carolina Wrens sing, often from the dense vegetation in wooded areas and neighborhoods, which can make them hard to spot. After a recent fierce lightning-filled afternoon storm, the wren and other birds chimed in together as the thunder finally started to rumble only in the distance, the light returned, and the rains eased up. What a lovely signal of a storm’s departure. This bird trills a song every eight seconds or so, as reliably and vibrantly as can be. Such an enchanting sound!

To appreciate the natural history sightings of others in the Hudson River environs, check out the Hudson River Almanac, a compilation of observations from local people that the New York Department of Environmental Conservation posts and also sends through e-mail. The almanac covers the area from New York Harbor to the High Peaks of the Adirondacks.

Mindfulness Moment: July 12 was the birthday of Henry David Thoreau, the essayist, activist, abolitionist, and Transcendentalist who was born in 1817 and died in 1862. His writings, such as Walden and “Civil Disobedience,” are as alive today as the moment he penned them. Thoreau’s thoughts and observations are vivid, wise, often-acerbic, and wholly illuminating. They especially resonate in an era of human beings connected to multiple electronic devices for much of each day, some of whom look up at what is around them and many who do not.

“How much virtue there is in seeing!” Thoreau wrote in his journal on April 9, 1841. As Terry Tempest Williams noted in a foreword to Walden, Thoreau became awakened by his attunement to what was right around him, in nature and the seasons. “The art of seeing becomes his practice. The art of writing becomes his meditation,” Williams observed of Thoreau’s time at Walden Pond, explaining that as Thoreau’s knowledge of his outer landscape expanded, his “inner landscape” deepened.

How is seeing a practice? How is it virtuous? The very beauty and life force that exist around us and our own senses affirm that it’s important each day to see and be aware. The very act of a Divine force creating this magnificence around us, down to the finest rhythms of a bird’s trills or the calculated heartbeats of a newly born baby, says that it matters. The more we are attuned to this presence of life and beauty, the more we would design and live in concert with our Earth. Seeing is presence, fully in our world and with one another. What a gift another gives to us by simply seeing us.

“This is a delicious evening, when the whole body is one sense, and imbibes delight through every pore.” – Henry David Thoreau, Walden