Monday, September 3, 2012

Summer impressions

To see the Summer Sky
Is Poetry, though never in a Book it lie -
True Poems flee.
            ~Emily Dickinson

 After a weekend of sports, sun and swimming, we find ourselves facing sober September, still warm outside but the threat of Autumn carried gently in each evening’s breeze. Summer sure flew by, we say to each other over our sweating glasses, sand pressed between our toes, eyes squinting underneath the white sun. Kids frolick in the water, make adventure in nearby bushes and when it's time, watch the fire lick the blackening sky.

Summer, now  a series of impressions: water, seal-like, a solid, gliding form against my body; a baseball rocketing over tilted heads and upturned eyes; orange and pink streaks on the horizon; afternoon sounds of dogs and buzzing and cawing and skateboard wheels; warmth like a balm on prickly skin.


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"As soon as we express something, we devalue it strangely. We believe ourselves to have dived down into the depths of the abyss, and when we once again reach the surface, the drops of water on our pale fingertips no longer resemble the ocean from which they came...Nevertheless, the treasure shimmers in the darkness unchanged." ---Franz Kafka