Quiet walk this morning, August 26, at Windswept Bog. Fall encroaches. The weather has been crystal. A Merlin flashes from a pine tree top across the bog. An Osprey soars; a red-tailed hawk keers.
Bush clover is leaning and Purple Gerardia (Agalinis purpurea)is blooming in so many places along the edges, including in the "Alder Run." The Downy goldenrod is starting.
The full grown Grasses are over my height and bending. I walk through their aisle; will I walk into another kingdom on the other side, like Narnis? A Sun shower sends raindrops flying.
Grapes are ripe; if they were lower down I would pick them! Instead,I head home to make our beach plums (18 cups from the Pout Ponds bushes) into jelly and watch a passing thunderstorm on the ocean.
Monarch butterflies in the garden daily. Josh and I foraged for grapes on August 27. More than 6 pounds! We will get a few more riper grapes when we return on September 8.
I have been delighting in reading Emily Dickinson, thanks to the Wauwinet Book Group.
A something in a summer's Day
A something in a summer's Day
As slow her flambeaux burn away
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer's noon—
A depth—an Azure—a perfume—
Transcending ecstasy.
And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright
I clap my hands to see—
Then veil my too inspecting face
Lest such a subtle—shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me—
The wizard fingers never rest—
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes its narrow bed—
Still rears the East her amber Flag—
Guides still the sun along the Crag
His Caravan of Red—
So looking on—the night—the morn
Conclude the wonder gay—
And I meet, coming thro' the dews
Another summer's Day!
Emily Dickinson F104, 1859