“Further in Summer than the Birds
Pathetic from the Grass
A minor Nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive Mass.

No Ordinance be seen
So gradual the Grace
A pensive Custom it becomes
Enlarging Loneliness.

Antiquest felt at Noon
When August burning low
Arise this spectral Canticle
Repose to typify.

Remit as yet no Grace
No Furrow on the Glow
Yet a Druidic Difference
Enhances Nature now.”

-Emily Dickinson


Emily Dickinson usually leaves me wondering. But even the opacity of her words speak to my heart, this late August morn. August…when I expect to be sweltering and enduring, overwhelmed with bounty from the garden. Instead, I am wrapping up the loaf of crusty bread and putting it in the freezer to wait for the tomatoes that remain green on the vine…


…and I put layers on in the morning and feel the emptiness of the pasture, over to the east, while I work in my studio or read on the porch. Our last sweet goat died last month after a long and rich seventeen years with us, and the neighbor’s sheep have gone home so that the pasture can renew itself…


Instead of summer rhythms, I find the autumnal ones are so early weaving their way into my days as I start a pot of rice cooking in the morning or take a walk in the not-too-hot afternoon and notice the crickets more than the cicadas….


…already savoring the golden, easy, warmth that is becoming somewhat elusive, as I spend more time with paper and plans than water and flowers…


No doubt all will be August-like a few turnings of the earth from now, nor do I wish for it to be different than it is. The stillness, the cloud-covered sky and those birds far from me are writing for me today.


And whether I will find myself sipping some chilled rosy wine on the little terrace as the sun dips this evening, or a warming cup of tea in the kitchen while the rain falls…it is all good. My deario will be with me, perhaps a son will wander by and we will break out a deck of cards.


For now, tho’, I will put the now-done rice in the ‘fridge and get to all of my work that awaits.

Sending you these late-August birds of thoughts and pictures as they flutter by, with fondness…xo