“What wondrous life is this I lead!
Ripe apples drop about my head;
The luscious clusters of the vine
Upon my mouth do crush their wine…” ~ Andrew Marvell
I will remember this August….despite the solemn start we’ve finished in luscious, lovely light, deep and colourful in minds eye.
Such heady fragrance’s pulls me in, the scent of late summer grass, ripe berries burgeoning on the vine, crisp apples hanging low..tantalizing like Eve did Adam… the smell of summer late and low in my nostrils most welcome.
What other season can one become one with thistles,goldenrod and butterfly… sit lone in sun,baked hot upon golden skin glowing deeply in the low summer light? That breathless time before the fall, when long shadows herald the long, slow arc of the sun in our northern horizon.
These late days of summer, lush and ripe with bounty for all, when mornings dew and fog hug beaches intimately bare, rivers silent slung and bays in solitude… when the apples hang as full and nourishing as mother milk…just beyond reach.
These late hot days of summer, when thistles beckon like down alight, soft and sensuous…rub them upon your skin,blow softly into the air, no one knows where…have you seen the beauty most unseen?
Imagine waves of grass, undulating to and fro, not unlike a belly dancer enticing you to enter forbidden venues….hot and dry, the teasing breeze beckons and calls inside your skin, fast and slow…
Do you feel this call, these sirens of summer song, long shadows , soft shade, full of long idle hours creeping…. oh so slowly creeping.. towards the harkening of the night?Stars low and sparkling bright?