Category: Summer 2023

Suddenly, September plunks herself down in the meadow.
She spills Queen Anne’s Lace and goldenrod everywhere.
It’s not that she was unexpected, but I had pushed her
way over there in my mind since she signals the advent
of the cold half of the year. Now here I am, knee deep
in late summer wildflowers, glad despite myself,
the child in me dancing giddily to the shrill sawing
of ten thousand crickets and handsome insects
everywhere, feasting. “It’s another whole corner of heaven!”
the dancing child shouts, and my wrinkled face smiles.

As if in benediction, one last lily blossomed today,
its petals a delicate pink, its center shades of lemon
and lime, glowing with an internal light. Six stamens,
also glowing, rose from its heart bearing offerings
of gold, in thanks, I believe, for the privilege of being.
I kneel before it to peer into its face, to take in
its silent song. This is the garden’s last blossom.
Now the wildflowers will sing their autumn songs
and I will dance to their bright tunes. But here,
before this lily, I am, for a long while, silent.
And at last, all I can do is dare to stroke
its petals as I whisper my grateful farewell.

What was that? You wanted butterflies?
Let me whisper a secret: So did I.
Those wafers of color darting through
the flowers, turning happy somersaults
in the summer air, basking in the sun.
And let’s wish that each flower
is sweeter for them than the last one
and that each moment of their lives
is filled with overflowing joy.

May the bees be blessed,
for they are under assault
as much as we. May flowers,
rich in sweet nectar and deep
with pollen, invite them,
laughing, and may both
the bees and flowers thrive,
and us, too, in a world where
light dances everywhere
and we dine on rich honey
and drink the gold of the sun.

I do not take this green world for granted.
It is the end of August; soon it will be gone.
But not yet. Now, here I am in the midst
of its healing, feeling it penetrate every cell
of my body, absorbing the tones of its song.
Winter will be long. May this green become
a part of me and feed me through the darkness.
May I remember, forever, the bountiousness
of this green world, this dancing peace.

Whether flowing through patches of sunlight,
or drifting through deep summer shade,
whether gliding over rocks and stones,
or parting for the slick darting fishes
or for the paddling of thick, webbed feet,
whether tumbling from heights,
or lingering on the flatlands,
in rain, in wind, beneath starlight,
in snow, the creek has but one guideline:
How easy can I let this be?

Even though the cloudy sky subdued them,
the colors of the meadow caught my eye.
How subtly, I thought, the seasons change,
the Black-Eyed-Susans giving way to goldenrod,
the daisies bowing to the Queen Anne’s lace.
Already the green of the trees is beginning
to move into shades of olive here and there.
So I let this flower-strew field paint itself
into my heart, a portrait of summer
at its turning point, a reminder to cherish
each moment’s beauty, those past
and those that the moment hints will come,
and most of all, and always, this one,
before my eyes right now.

You never know when you start out
what your journey will bring.
Anything you can imagine
is possible, and then some.
It’s all a gift, you know,
a world for you, to explore
your choices, to decide who
you will be, to discover
what you’re made of.
Hold onto your hope and
keep your faith, remembering
that, regardless, light shines
at the end of the road.

I dip my finger in the nectar to be sure it had cooled
enough to fill the hummingbirds’ suddenly empty feeder.
It had. They’re going through it quickly these days,
storing up extra energy for their upcoming migration.
I slip on my pink rain jacket, pull up the hood,
and walk, giggling, through the rain, the wet grass
tickling my bare feet. When I return to my kitchen
with the feeder, I see a bee has come along for the ride.
I catch him in a jar and take him outside.
As I carry the filled feeder up the hill to its pole, a memory
rises in my mind of Holly, her big umbrella in hand,
walking through a downpour after tending to her chickens.
I smile that we both feed birds in the rain.

At first I mistook them for fleabane,
both having such tiny white flowers,
But as I neared them, I realized they
were something else, something
I had never seen before, inviting
me to take a closer look. “Oh my!
Petals like an orchid and wearing
such delicate dabs of purple!” I say
to myself as I gaze at the little flowers.
I never fail to be amazed at
the intricacies of the world,
at the touching, exquisite details.
It makes me hold my breath in awe
and to feel honored somehow
just to see them, right here, before me.