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summer soluble

It's one of those days which I love best (though many people dread them), in weatherman jargon: "hot, hazy, and humid"

It's morning still, though, so not so hot--but the haze makes it hard to see the wave mountains on the horizon.

On a day like this, I wish I could post to live journal the smell of the air. It's the smell of wildflowers and grass and warmth, so many undercurrents to it; it's textured, it's singing a song or telling a story, and the story is eternal. The moments of course pass by, but while you're in them, under the wide sky, with fields and flowers beside you and that scent carrying you, you're in a moment of eternity. I happily dissolve right into them, and I forget about my feet and the road, and I just stretch out into and over and through all of it. It never happens this way for me except in summer--when I can smell the air and practically taste it, when the humidity makes sounds from far away be heard so clearly, and I can feel my own heat.

flowers this morning: hop clover, purple clover, white clover, bladder campion, madder or bedstraw (so fragrant!), cow vetch, daisies, a tiny bindweed whose name I've forgotten, and other small things I don't know.

birds: killdeer, redwinged blackbirds, mourning doves, barn swallows, goldfinches, starlings, robins, and of course the lovely lovely orioles.

(The oriole is like the opposite of a bottom feeder--it lands only on the topmost parts of trees and sings its song from way up there. It flies from one treetop to another; watching it means craning your neck and being aware of a world above the world you normally see.)

wildlife: rabbits and a red squirrel

Unfortunately the deer flies are out now (but so are the fireflies, at night).

Under the railway bridge, the deep shadows make everything deliciously cool. You have to be hot to enjoy this delicious coolness--it's like a drink of water.

People's windows are still open; they haven't withdrawn into air conditioning yet--I could hear people preparing breakfast--the nice sounds of dishes and water and radios and talking.

And last night we visited a couple who live up in the woods, in a homemade house, on a hill surrounded by mountain laurel in bloom, and we sat outside as the dusk deepened, listening to hermit thrushes singing, and that too, was an eternal moment. I remember a story of a monk who became enchanted listening to a thrush sing, and as he stood there transported, a hundred years went by.

...And on a completely different topic, thanks, amberdine for your two e-mails! I am going to do some writing today, I know it :-)


( 2 comments — Leave a comment )
Jun. 18th, 2006 12:46 pm (UTC)
that was a poem in prose!

I normally do NOT like hot,humid weather, which we have too much of here...but I love the way you said that the cool shadows in the heat were like a drink of water...something you can only really enjoy when you're hot.

Keep up the writing.
Jun. 18th, 2006 04:58 pm (UTC)
Wow. I can't believe you think I'm a good writer. This is genius, seriously. Nothing is more peaceful to me than open windows and fresh air. It just sounds insanely beautiful. I'm happy for you!
( 2 comments — Leave a comment )



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