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| Friend gracing my doorway. |
Today, I made a new friend perched amid the bolting lettuce. A sign of luck, or so they say. It is a good omen when tree frogs grace my doorway. The month of August always takes me by surprise. Something about the quality of light, the air a searing inferno, then unexpectedly punctuated by a sharp shift in temperature. Often, I am arrested in my tracks as I stare at the shapes of plants, mesmerized by quiet beauty. The garden has made progress from the damage done by the deer, and my current preoccupation is hunting down green beans beneath vast expanses of giant zucchini leaves. Tonight the crickets are out, and I scanned the heavens for meteor showers, early eclipses, planetary parades, but none could I see. Just stars. And so many of them, reminding me to look up. This poem is very August, so it seemed appropriate.
In The Fields
- Charlotte Mew (1869-1928)
....Under old trees the shadows of young leaves
Dancing to please the wind along the grass,
Or the gold stillness of the August sun on the August sheaves;
Can I believe there is a heavenlier world than this?
And if there is
Will the strange heart of any everlasting thing
Bring me these dreams that take my breath away?