Summer is Upon Us
The heat of the southern summer is suddenly upon us. Cool, serene April is overtaken by a hot sun normally seen in June, as today’s temperatures soar into the 90′s.
Leaves of lemon balm bow to the heat, curling gently downward until the sun retreats behind the trees and the cool air of evening returns. Juvenile pepper and tomato plants seem to rejoice at the turn in the weather, surging upward as if they were trying to reach for the sky and touch the mighty orb that fuels their growth.
Nearly all the signs of summer are in the garden, broad-headed skinks climb about the walls of the house while dragonflies circle a row of hearty chives. Morning dove gather under the mighty oak tree and enjoy the cool water of the bird bath, while our dog hides within the spots of shade created by the angles of the house. Look closely and you’ll find remnants of Robin eggs scattered beneath the trees, signaling the arrival of new members of the community. The only things missing are the bees that will swarm the flowers yet to come and the sound of the Cicada, singing its unmistakable summer song. That, and the toads, which I fear shall not be seen in abundance ever again.
It’s almost like being in Florida but without the breeze, for the sky is still a brilliant blue, not yet tarnished by the haze of late June and July. Within it are hundreds of small white clouds but not even a hint of rain.
Inside, I hear the occasional click of the ceiling fan and wonder how much longer we can go without running the air condition. The answer, of course, is we can go all summer without it, just like my grandmother did when she was a child growing up in Eastern Arkansas and slept on a double decker screened porch. I have no such porch, but wish that I did.
Lower Delta, behold summer in all her majesty! Her fullness of life is wondrous, and for it, we should give thanks. For there are those that would take us from such simple scenes and cast us into foreign deserts full of armaments, misery, fire and death. I find great joy in these simple things, and the great beauty is enough to sustain me in a world made ugly by selfish, waring men.
Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.”-John Keats, “Ode on a Grecian Urn”