Sunday, July 7, 2013

Haying season

Hi! Enjoying Summer? We have temperature in the mid to upper 80's; trees fully leafed out; grasses topped with seed heads; humidity daunting to oppressive; lakes finally warm enough to jump in; air conditioning a pleasant surprise when coming inside; mosquitoes, deerflies, horseflies, and assorted and sundry other flying biting creatures filling the air. Several days ago we noticed fireflies in the back yard. Dragonfly squadrons seem fewer and further between this Summer than in years past. Yesterday, a doe with triplet fawns was reported to be seen in the back yard, a treat to watch for in the future. (I resisted the urge to say "fawns spotted" in the back yard and was almost successful in resisting that temptation.) I don't recall ever seeing as much purple vetch and hoary alyssum as are blooming right now. The fields look like an ad for the Minnesota Vikings. The orange daylilies along our roadside are now in bloom. Summer's zenith is a good time to think of those whose work takes them to hot and humid fields.

Twilight: After Haying

Yes, long shadows go out
from the bales; and yes, the soul
must part from the body:
what else could it do?

The men sprawl near the baler,
too tired to leave the field.
They talk and smoke,
and the tips of their cigarettes
blaze like small roses
in the night air. (It arrived
and settled among them
before they were aware.)

The moon comes
to count the bales,
and the dispossessed—
Whip-poor-will, Whip-poor-will
—sings from the dusty stubble.

These things happen ... the soul's bliss
and suffering are bound together
like the grasses ...

The last, sweet exhalations
of timothy and vetch
go out with the song of the bird;
the ravaged field
grows wet with dew.
That hay will smell sweetly of Summer next Winter. I hope you manage to put up some wonderful memories these warm days to see you through next Winter's storms. Thanks for listening. Come again when you can. Rants, raves and reflections served here daily.