AUGUST DAYS

    "Now came still evening on, and twilight gray had in her sober libery all things clad."
                                        (John Milton)
And the last of the sweet peas, disheveled, ready to be torn asunder  for compost. Ready to be chopped up. Sad. But it's time.

       "Silence was pleased; now glowed the firmament with living sapphires. ( Milton)

             And those darn sweet peas. Staring mournfully out from their bed of dirt and mulch, as they are finally chewed up. I must be brave.  But I will miss them.

 "Wherever water flows, or birds fly, wherever day and night meet in twilight, wherever the blue heaven is hung by clouds, or sown with stars......" (William Wordsworth)

                                               

 "All this that love the sun are out of doors, the sky rejoices in the morning's birth.." (Wordsworth)

 "The cry of gulls at daybreak ocean bound, always a wind is slinging in their ears, always they lean to catch a drift of spray, or reef-blown water tossing in a bay, or drift of ebb tide around salty piers." (Harold Vinal)

    And then there are the cats. Those funny things that come to visit and dance around in the morning, and night, wanting to see, wanting to chase snakes, birds and bugs. Or you. Or hid in the compost bag and pat at things.

 
      "What nature delivers to us is never stale. Because what nature creates has eternity in it."
                                  ( Isaac Bashevis Singer)

 And there is still so much to prune and cut back, cut back and prune. August is winding down. Just hot muggy days left, where everything looks wilted and scraggy. The sweet peas are all gone now. The apples are ripening, the grapes are getting fat. Not yet fall, yet a hint of fall to come. "The sea is calm tonight, the tide is full, the moon lies fair upon the straits, for the world, which seems to lie before us like a land of dreams." (Matthew Arnold)

One Hot Afternoon....

 Something fascinating in the compost. This hot, humid afternoon.  Cordelia sits on one of the Moai heads. Staring.

               Then she dozes. In the heat of the afternoon. In the cool of the plum tree.

       The Rhodochiton has begun its summer trailing.  Everything is hot. Quiet.

 Salmon poppies bloom in the sun. Where they have not bloomed for two years.

 Spencer sits on his gate, in the shade of the house. He stares over the hanging basket which swings  a little in the breeze that is not there.

 And of course, in the heat of the day, we decide to toddle to the Compost Dump. Divided now into sections for twigs, leaves, grass, etc. And nice polite signs pointing the way. Only in a small town, I suppose. A Canadian small town. Please. And Thank you. Of course.

 And piles of dirt . Rich and loamy. In the middle of nowhere. The result of all this citywide composting. I guess the signs are working. They built this place, and we came. And now there is dirt. Please. And definitely Thank you........

 Back home. This hot afternoon. To find more roses blooming. In the sun. In the heat.

 They climb up to the roof. They spill and mass together. Beautiful.

 Like Cordelia. She has woken up. She still sits on her Moai , ,making a white furry hat for the head .

 Smokey lies in the cool grass. Under the Smoke bush. How appropriate.

 And another rose begins to open in the heat. This afternoon. The peace rose...starts out as yellow, but pales as it's girth widens.

 On the gate in the shade, Spencer still sits. Surrounded by flowers. It's cooler here. The hanging baskets still swing in the breezeless way.

 Cordelia listens. Hummingbirds buzz by her perch. Robins scuttle by. Wary of the sleepy white cat.

 Time for  a bath on this hot day. In the afternoon. It's safe now. The cats are too sleepy with the heat.  Quiet. Even the beautiful Cordelia nods off again. On her perch. Under the plum tree. One Hot Afternoon....