A most glorious day.
Blue skies with magnificent white clouds floating by,
Sometimes obscuring the sun, leaving a chill in the air.
Sunlight illuminates every color of green. Overwhelmingly green.
Every flower blossom exudes fragrance on the air,
Passing by just to give a whiff, of pleasure.
The mottled ground, shadows of quivering leaves.
The Bush Tits flitting, where else? In the bushes.
I’m mesmerized. I cannot move from this chair.
What if I miss a moment?
I miss winter already.
I miss the dark and brooding skies,
As I look up through bare branches hanging overhead.
I miss the mist and the cold wind against my face,
And pulling my coat and my scarf a bit closer around me,
And my hat tightly down over my ears.
I miss the hard, hard rain,
Soaking through my pant legs and my boots.
Although it’s barely spring,
I miss the long nights of storms blowing through from the east,
Rattling both shutters and awakening my fears.
I miss finding comfort in piles of quilts and wool.
Even the soft light of spring seems too harsh, too bright.
I’m not ready. I’m not prepared for what is exposed in this light that comes even through clouds.
Though there are a million other beautiful things about spring,
I miss winter already.
We had a thunderstorm last night with pouring and pounding rain, bright white flashes of lightning and booming, rolling thunder and wind blowing the trees sideways. It blew by. It lasted for just under 20 minutes.
I counted the first burst of sound and flash of light that woke me from an uneasy sleep, just like Mom had taught me to do. “One one thousand, two one thousand, three one thousand.” It was right over head as it headed west. I quit counting at seventeen one thousand… it was traveling across the midnight sky.
Then just as suddenly as it began, all was quiet again. The trees stood still and the undisturbed darkness returned. The smell of wet pavement blew in my open window as the drops of rain fell on the warm streets.
When I woke this morning, we’re back to the heat with bright sunshine. The sky is light blue with high fluffy clouds thousands and thousands, if not hundreds of thousands of feet in the air.
The light is a soft, muted golden yellow. Even the air itself, as if it were visible, shimmers. I think because of the slow and gradual transitioning to autumn, and the extreme heat we’ve suffered, the leaves are starting to turn on the trees and fall to the ground.
What a sight to see and remember in this late August time.
It’s just past noon on the summer solstice.
For days it’s been cool and raining.
Everything is just a bit damp.
While the temperature is climbing,
The hammock is calling.
I answer the call and lay down,
and I gaze upwards.
The sky is so blue it’s an impossible shade of purple.
The leaves are every shade of green,
From black where little light can reach,
Under the dense branches,
To chartreuse where the leaves shine against the sky,
Almost translucent where sunlight amicably tries to penetrate.
I think I’ll just lie here for a while.
After all, the warmth and beauty are mesmerizing.
eyeamdust 