Noon — is the Hinge of Day — Evening — the Tissue Door — Morning — the East compelling the Sill — Till all the World is ajar — ~ Emily Dickinson (The Poems of Emily Dickinson, #1060)
On Wednesday we went down to the beach earlier in the morning and found it less populated and more peaceful. Chilly, but wonderful! Staying connected with family and friends and even feeling better physically. Full of gratitude.
Spring! Back at home in my garden, the chionodoxa (glory of the snow) are out! What a cheerful greeting and welcome home. ❦
The first week of August hangs at the very top of summer, the top of the live-long year, like the highest seat of a Ferris wheel when it pauses in its turning. The weeks that come before are only a climb from balmy spring, and those that follow a drop to the chill of autumn, but the first week of August is motionless, and hot. It is curiously silent, too, with blank white dawns and glaring noons, and sunsets smeared with too much color. Often at night there is lightning, but it quivers all alone. There is no thunder, no relieving rain. These are strange and breathless days, the dog days, when people are led to do things they are sure to be sorry for after.
~ Natalie Babbitt
She’ll come at dusky first of day, White over yellow harvest’s song. Upon her dewy rainbow way She shall be beautiful and strong. The lidless eye of noon shall spray Tan on her ankles in the hay, Shall kiss her brown the whole day long.
I’ll know her in the windrows, tall Above the crickets of the hay. I’ll know her when her odd eyes fall, One May-blue, one November-grey. I’ll watch her from the red barn wall Take down her rusty scythe, and call, And I will follow her away.
~ Francis Ledwidge
Lughnasa: August 7, 2011, 4:37 p.m.
August 6, 2012, 10:26 p.m.
First Harvest ~ Lammas
Harvest ~ Life ~ Wisdom
Seasonal movie: Dancing at Lughnasa
Read Moby Dick overnight on the Charles W. Morgan
at Mystic Seaport