Saturday, June 15, 2013

Summer Poem

Now the sweet, green leaves of summer
greet me each day. In this country,
the wind blows clouds to the far horizon,
and the sun shines every day.
Those fat, full heads of peonies droop
down to the ground, and marigolds and poppies
flourish. Clematis vines flower like spreading hands,
their purple and white equally intense
in their last gasp before the heat
of full summer, remind me
of the turn of seasons,

of the end of days.

I'm always surprised by poetry -- as if the only time I do write poetry is during April, National Poetry Month. But last year, I noticed I was forgetting the details of the turn of seasons, when one type of flower finished its bloom, and the next flourished, when the birds came, and when they left.

Yesterday, I helped my dear daughter and son-in-law with a garage sale. She wanted to let go of clutter, to simplify. Leda is now one-year-old, just before that first step when she walks, her words a jumble of sound that makes sense to her and only sometimes to us.

Yesterday Allen took me to a fabric sale where thousands of bolts of fabric were being sold at $2/yard. Two very large rooms at the County Fairgrounds were full of tables, bolts lined against the wall, with hundreds of quilters shopping. On the first day of the sale, the lines stretched out about half a mile, and shoppers waited about two hours to pay for their finds. Today was quiet, but so many choices. I cannot imagine ever possessing this much fabric, even though I love quilting and have far too many projects awaiting my attention. And yet I brought home some lovely new fabrics, bright tropical fishes, Native American themes, and 144 9-patch squares all in blue  (I'll try to post a pic later). I now have 4 charity quilts at the planning stage and those blue squares will grace my bed at some point . . . 

Yesterday also, I had what was so lovingly described in My Big Fat Greek Wedding as a 'bibopsy'. Just a small removal of a mole. Nothing serious expected, but it was a little sign. I've downsized once. I'm not sure I'm ready to downsize again.

Morning Lion (Camp 2012)


  1. Anonymous4:18 AM

    Love the poem. Quilting sounds like fine but I hate sewing so knitting is my particular thing. As always, a lovely and thoughtful post!

  2. Thank you for visiting, Mrs. Bongle. Sometimes I think poetry, like quilting or knitting, or anything we do that brings us joy, weaves through our lives, holding memories.