Here comes summer!

The first poison ivy spraying of the year has been done. Some more of winter's windfall branches have been collected, broken down, and dropped in the fire pit. Heat and humidity then ended the day's outside chores. Pacing myself no longer means continuing to work at a slower rate, it means stopping before I fall over, based on the old saying about "he who fights and runs away, lives to fight another day." I'm slowly beginning to realize that there will always be more chores to be done as long as we live in a wooded setting.

hoary puccoon

Photo by J. Harrington

Midday, before starting the outdoor chores, SiSi and I took a walk to the southern corner of the property, where we, or at least I, noticed a  few hoary puccoon plants in flower. One of the lilac bushes in front of the house is beginning to develop flower buds, but no blooms yet. Perhaps over the next week or so we'll get to enjoy lilacs in bloom in our own yard. Meanwhile, the violets and creeping charlie in the front "lawn" seem to be enjoying the rain, heat and humidity. In the unlikely event you're old enough to remember a classic summer song from 1959, you probably recognize today's title. Here's a link to the original "Here comes summer," in case your memory doesn't stretch back that far and you're curious about what your elders used to listen to.

His Speed and Strength

Alicia Ostriker - 1937-

His speed and strength, which is the strength of ten
years, races me home from the pool.
First I am ahead, Niké, on my bicycle,
no hands, and the Times crossword tucked in my rack,
then he is ahead, the Green Hornet,
buzzing up Witherspoon,
flashing around the corner to Nassau Street.

At noon sharp he demonstrated his neat
one-and-a-half flips off the board:
Oh, brave. Did you see me, he wanted to know.
And I doing my backstroke laps was Juno
Oceanus, then for a while I watched some black
and white boys wrestling and joking, teammates, wet
plums and peaches touching each other as if

it is not necessary to make hate,
as if Whitman was right and there is no death.
A big wind at our backs, it is lovely, the maple boughs
ride up and down like ships. Do you mind
if I take off, he says. I’ll catch you later,
see you, I shout and wave, as he peels
away, pedaling hard, rocket and pilot.

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