I want to get caught in the spirit of some idea or words and write something that feels like the ocean, like lightning in the distance, like something glorious. Like the lights that shimmer off ordinary plants after a rain.
in the air
Category: summer
confluence
There should be a checklist. Fireflies. Fireworks. A spectacular storm that doesn’t bring down any trees. Coffee on a fresh morning after it’s rained. A walk on the beach. A walk in the woods. Staking tomatoes. Watering plants. Treading water and lazy laughs with friends. Snapdragons. Dragonflies. Bugs and muggy nights.
The confluence? July 23rd. An evening outside when there’s still more than a few fireflies, and already, crickets chirp, as if to announce a movement towards August. Surrounded by a blend of scents from the plants I love. It’s happened before, evenings like this, and I ponder which plants disperse that heavenly fragrance.
Inside, pink coneflower cuttings drop pollen on the countertop. As my cloth wipes away the yellow powder, I detect a floral scent. Not an overdone designer aroma. But the real-deal pollen floral scent.
Some golden bits of summer to store up, as if I’m capable, and hold for some lifeless November afternoon.
the last bits of light
The little bright light was unmistakably the flash of a firefly. It was almost dark, and I was by the dogwood in the front when I saw it. At first, I thought how wonderful. And then I thought sadly, oh little guy, you’re way too late. This isn’t gonna work out for you.
I made my way to the back door, and whoah, another light flashed. And another. And seconds later another in the furthest part of the back yard, under the trees. At least four different bugs. After that I lost track because fireflies cover some distance between flashes. If I knew how, I would have said, hey, there’s a guy in the front looking for you.
It seems late for fireflies, but it’s been a strange year.
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That isn’t a dogwood in the picture, and those aren’t fireflies. It was a little too late to take pictures, but those last bits of light call to me. Still, the fireflies were for real. I’ve been wordy of late. The end of summer puts thoughts in my head. Thanks for patiently reading and taking the time to tell me what you think.
a long time ago
We were packed in the car with the windows down. I swipe at the mess of hair blowing around in front of my eyes and sit up tall so I can see out. A sharp curve takes the car over the hill, and we pass cows out to pasture. A wire fence, tall weeds along the side of the road, and Queen Anne’s Lace.
A long time ago.
at water’s edge
a summer day
spotted
Spotted
robins.
Three of them.
Young ones, for sure.
Fledglings, nestlings,
constant feedings.
Papa Robin worn thin, too worn for singing.
Evening songs competing
with cicadas
and crickets.
Ribbits.
When did that happen?
You know, Summer running up ahead,
glancing back. And that snotty grin?
Summer’s promise, the long days of june.
Done
And
Done.
Ahh ….
Spotted
lady,
painted bright and new as spring.
Me? I’m whining and lamenting
where this weird old summer’s going.
photographs from july 25, 2020
quiet
the days are long enough and the sun stays high enough
for the last light of the day to make it in from the west
photographed july 1, 2020
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© Etikser. All Rights Reserved.
All photos and images here are my own.
They may not be used elsewhere or reblogged.
Please visit my other blog, Clover & Ivy, https://cloverandivy.wordpress.com.
I post mostly nature photos there.
morning coffee on the back porch
your bothered sigh
another day
a squeak
a bang
sliding doors
nearby voices fading far
muffled jumble
meaningless words
engines and brakes
thumps and car doors
invisible airplane overhead purr
a singular
dispirited
gnarling bark
hums
buzz
someone’s busy outdoor chores
then
quiet
nothing
but wind and birds and bugs silence
til
a swishing swirl
swiftly spinning
bicycle wheels
one more sip, your final gulp
sun up sounds
summer’s day waking up
all in the smell of just cut grass
A sensory rush stocked with the stuff of long-forgotten whims.
A second to pause and hold onto the smell of summer and innocence.
Rolling down grassy hills.
At the bottom, a jumble of limbs.
Shaking stomachs and silly giggles.
Dress up play and make believe.
Bicycles, grass stains, and skinned knees.
Long warm days, staying out past dark
Capture-the-flag and Hide-n-seek
All in the smell of just cut grass
etikser 