Treading lightly the path to enlightenment.

Posts tagged ‘summer’

July Winds

Summer morning

 

The winds of July will find me,
For we have places to be.
She rustles leaves outside my window
‘Til I wake to the morning glow.
She calls for me to follow,
For we have places to go.

She brings with her the smell of rain,
And flowers sweet, and breath of life.
She tags along with thunderstorms,
Rides along their anvil tops.
She wraps herself around me,
“Hurry!” she calls, “Before it stops!”

She sways the growing sunflower
And fans the cottonwoods, tall and green.
Puffs skyward the dandelion seed
And waves the blackberry, bended low.
Then snows a storm of cottonwood down
Tossed gaily to and fro.

Whilst bumblebee and butterfly
Do not prefer to share the sky
There’s little we can do or say
When the summer wind flies our way.
She beckons me to join them, too,
For we have so much to do.

There are windsocks and weathervanes,
Sails of ships that she must fill.
She casts about the smell of campfires,
The plaintive call of the Whip-poor-will.
There are kites at beaches to be held aloft,
Summer rain to usher in, gentle and soft.

Into the mild evening she accompanies me
For we have so much yet to hear and see.
Nighttime clouds that pass the moon.
At the lake she carries the sound of the loon.
Not far from home, a pungent smell
Of the skunk who loves the wind as well.

As quiet night sinks dark and deep
The rustling leaves call me to sleep.
On silent wings she carries the owl
And brings to me the coyote howl.
Outside my window she tells again,
Of all the places we have been.

 

Slainte,

Paz

June Piece

 

Wild Tiger Lilies

 

It seems as though we’ve just watched
The last of the snow fade.
Now we cut the growing grass
Blade by blade.

We keep watch for hummingbirds
And the peony’s blooms.
We can open our windows (at least in the day),
In our sunny summer rooms.

Summer Solstice brings promise,
Today the day is long.
We turn to see the rose’s bloom…
And June is gone.

 

Slainte,

Paz

One Perfect Day

Noni among the flowers

It seems we get this one perfect day in the spring.

The temperatures rise and we can go out comfortably, perhaps a light wrap is all we need.

The sun breaks through the spring rain clouds, and shines on the greening Earth.

Birds sing. Hyacinths and daffodils and colt’s foot and crocuses bloom gaily.

And then it’s gone.

Next day, all the flies come out, accompanied by the ticks.

Mud tracks everywhere.

Before you know it, someone is complaining about the summer.

One perfect day.

Demanding? Perfectionists? Ultra-sensitive?

Next thing I know, folks will be complaining about the heat and humidity, the mosquitoes, the lawns we can’t keep up with.

The memory of that one perfect day fades quickly, and is lost in all the terrible days of summer.

After suffering a lot of sunshine and birdsong and camping and fishing and relaxing, you’d think folks would be glad the awful summer is over.

September first, or Labor Day, someone will turn to me and say “Next thing you know, it’ll be snowing.”

And I’ll be glad this nasty summer business is behind us so we can get back to freezing and shoveling.

 

Seek peace,

 

Paz

Circle of Seasons

 

Schoharie Creek Sunrise

It’s great to live in a place that has such changes of season. Sure, idyllic life on tropical islands has its appeal, but I’ve never known that so won’t miss it I guess.

Moving through the seasons is like an annual reminder of the larger circle in which we linger, that of our own mortal lives. Metaphors speak of the “springtime” of one’s life, call out May-December marriages, and observe happenings that occur “once in a blue moon”.

I’ve recently chosen not to choose a favorite season.

Little Bit on the Cape

Lots of folks love summer, our own short piece of idyllic tropical life, doled out in 3-month stints. Shirtsleeves or less, the smell of mown grass, flowers, swimming, vacations and camping. Naps in the hammock, afternoons by the lake, long days with sunset stretching the light out ’til nine o’clock. What’s not to love about summer?

Winter does nothing by half-measures. People love winter or despise it and rarely fall between the two extremes. Some will ski and ice-fish and snowshoe and snowmobile gleefully through the most inhumane conditions with mile-wide smiles and bright eyes gleaming beneath frosty eyebrows. Others will build warm fires and libraries, and take up origami and macrame, fly tying and model-building, one-eyed tv watching and after-lunch couch-napping.

A day on Duane Lake

 

 

 

Spring! Spring has the heart and eye of every poet born to the art. Spring leaps to mind in metaphors for everything from circles and cycles to hopes and dreams. From the embryonic starts of life itself to the romance needed to keep the chain going. Change! No more dark, no more brown, but green and yellow! No more snow-covered ground but…well, mud-covered ground (especially in the kitchen)..but soon to be green!

 

 

 

Noni among the flowers

Alas, there is Fall. Autumn has so many colors, smells and flavors. We enjoy the Earth’s bounty as all around us she prepares to mothball the northern hemisphere and concentrate on summer in Australia. Noisy flocks of Canada geese and silent flocks of European starlings assemble overhead to begin their southern trek. Apples are ready to fall from trees, pumpkins are ready to be spared from frosts only to be sacrificed to Halloween.

As the air cools with these advancing autumn evenings, our instincts tell us to prepare the dens for the winter.

I don’t remember when it began, maybe it’s a past-halfway thing in life, but fall finds me reminded of the unwavering march of time. As we stare into the barrel of another winter, I am reminded of life’s own circle.

 

 

Maxie & the milkweed

We each are born in late winters, grow through our springs, enjoy the short summer of marriage; children, living and loving, learning. As each year passes we find ourselves closer to the autumn of our lives, and as we vow to enjoy every moment of it, we may turn around one day to discover the trees are bare.

 

 

You can regret and mourn the approach of winter.

Or you can learn to fish through the ice.

 

Be at peace,

 

Paz

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