We know that in September, we will wander through the warm winds of summer's wreckage. We will welcome summer's ghost.
~ Henry Rollins ~
Sitting on my deck in the late afternoon shade with the warmish winds of summer’s wreckage sifting through the trees, I am writing stories and sprinkling water on the new sod I laid in the back garden yesterday. There are sun diamonds sparkling in the wet grass; bees are feasting in the lavender; and a chorus of crickets is singing secrets to the earth. Fragrant pots of rosemary, basil and thyme at my elbow, still smelling of sunshine, will soon give up the ghost but will continue to haunt me in the shape of stews, roasted vegetables, sauces, pizza and bread as the days shorten and the cold closes in. Why did I wait so long to grow herbs in the summer? What other joys have I overlooked that take so little effort yet give so generously?
These days I welcome the apparition of summer because it is milder than the full-bodied being. While I do prefer autumn over the other offspring of the year, I am in no hurry to release this last embrace of the season.
painting by Vincent Van Gogh