Category: Summer Serenade

On this humid, sweltering day
when the air is so thick that
you can barely keep your balance,
when the world seems to waver
before your very eyes, come find
the wild forget-me-nots rising
from the duckweed at the pond.
Drink in their refreshing grace.
Let their cool hues sooth you
and their dance speak of breezes
come to clear the air, to remind you
of the gifts that June has given,
and gives you now, as she departs
on this, her last, long, sultry day.

. . . don’t need any words.

It’s not just this field of golden flowers,
although this in itself is enough.
It’s the sky in its perfect shade
of summer blue with its mountainous
whipped cream clouds. It’s the way
the tall grasses on the hill billow
in waves like the sea’s with rafts
of pink crownvetch bobbing atop them.

It’s “Anthem” from Jonathan Livingston Seagull
wafting from the car’s speakers as I drive through
Ohio farmland on this quintessential summer day:
“Sanctus, Kyrie; Kryie, Gloria; Gloria, Holy, Holy.”

It’s my heart, brimming with peace and joy
at the miracle of being alive
in this perfect Now, in this perfect Here,
breathing the great Amen.

This is the kindness of the Yes,
this serenity spread before you
in a vision of green calm.
Rampant with life,
with burgeoning potential,
dynamic and unceasing,
yet wholly undisturbed,
it rests, in trust, on the flowing
of the endless song.
And thus is becomes
all that it was meant to be.

Suddenly, from the sea of rain-drenched green,
the lilies burst forth, their scarlet petals wide
and blazing with color so intense
that you could not look away.
It was as if the very soul of fire
had taken form during the night,
determined to bring its light to life
in these three, spectacular flowers.
And as you stood there, face to face
with them, they warmed you to your core
and sang a long-forgotten song
that you last heard at the moment
of your birth, and its words were words
of welcome, and its sound was the roaring
of the Yes.

I don’t know, of course, how trees feel.
But I have a hunch that, for them,
passing through the summer equinox
is sort of like watching your kids turn 21.
The leaves are no longer babies. Their adolescent
giddiness and blush has deepened to green.
And while they’re not quite fully grown,
they’ve definitely matured enough
to have won your respect.

I imagine the trees—who have, after all,
seen generations of leaves come and go—
get a kick out of watching this batch
dancing its way into summer.
They probably smile proudly at how big
they have grown to be, at how strong they are and supple.
They probably chuckle at the way
they strut a bit on their slim branches,
how they give an little extra flicker
when the breezes pass by. From here, across the pond,
they seem to be feeling just fine. No doubt they feel
that special surge that happens
just as you’re moving into prime time.

Listen, it’s all a gift. No matter how it feels.
This moment is larger than we imagine
and could not exist as it is but for our part
in it. Our seeing stitches it together.
Our words are notes in its song.
When we move, we move the whole atmosphere.
We breathe air and drink water that has circulated
through countless other bodies before ours.
Our thoughts shape the future and color its days.
It is we who give it meaning and rhyme.
And it all shines back at us, a perfect reflection
in the grand cosmic mirror, of who we are,
each of us, and all of us together.

Oh Yes! This is it!
This is what we wanted,
what we longed for
all winter long. This
summer day with winds
pushing the tall grass
and giant clouds evoking
memories of childhood,
when we stretched out
on the green fragrance
and found circuses
sailing overhead, when
even the ants were a matter
of utter fascination. Yes!
This is it exactly. The perfect
summer day. Oh, at last.
Oh Yes. Oh Yes. Oh Yes.

Summer wasted no time. It was clear
first thing in the morning that she
meant business. Thick fog was rising
from the field as if it the sun was
inhaling it for breakfast. When I went out
to feed the birds the air was heavy and still.
It clung to your skin like plastic wrap.
Not a leaf moved. The sun turned it up.
You could feel the air grow hotter by the minute.

In the afternoon, Bob called. “The angels are bowling
out here and they even spilled a little of their drinks,” he said.
I scurried to get the flag and canvas chairs from the porch.
Then, all excited, I sat on the front steps, looking west
through the trees, waiting. And waiting. And waiting.
For a minute a batch of clouds raced in.
The wind blew. The trees danced. To the northeast,
a peal of distant thunder rolled across the sky.
And that was it. Nothing more, except a blessed little breeze.
Tonight it will be clear, with fireflies.

Kaboom! It’s summer,
with all its sizzle and glory,
come to pare us down to our essence,
to burn away all that’s unneeded,
all that doesn’t belong. Come
with its vivid splendor and bright hues,
with its dazzling contrasts of light
and shade, of sweat and leisure,
of hard work and hard play,
of steamy heat and pouring rain.
Summer, where dreams are conceived
and brought to fruition. Summer,
pulling us on to become all we can be,
giving us our best chances,
singing light.