Week 2.3: Summer Fade

Week 2.3: Summer Fade was taken on my parent's front porch after I ran barefoot in the rain. Shocking. I know. I chose this photo this week because there is a bit of Summer Fade happening now. It's the end of August. Back to school. A slight change of temperature with a chill in the early mornings and evenings that wasn't there a week ago.

But the warm afternoons. And the summer skies. And the rains. Lovely. I called in some experts to express what I am feeling about this time of year. It's still summer but heading toward lovely autumn.

First up, one of my favorite authors of all time: Lucy Maud Montgomery. She's also known as L.M. Montgomery. Author of many works. I first fell in love with her when I read her Anne of Green Gables series.

A Summer Day

I

The dawn laughs out on orient hills
And dances with the diamond rills;
The ambrosial wind but faintly stirs
The silken, beaded gossamers;
In the wide valleys, lone and fair,
Lyrics are piped from limpid air,
And, far above, the pine trees free
Voice ancient lore of sky and sea.
Come, let us fill our hearts straightway
With hope and courage of the day.


II

Noon, hiving sweets of sun and flower,
Has fallen on dreams in wayside bower,
Where bees hold honeyed fellowship
With the ripe blossom of her lip;
All silent are her poppied vales
And all her long Arcadian dales,
Where idleness is gathered up
A magic draught in summer's cup.
Come, let us give ourselves to dreams
By lisping margins of her streams.


III

Adown the golden sunset way
The evening comes in wimple gray;
By burnished shore and silver lake
Cool winds of ministration wake;
O'er occidental meadows far
There shines the light of moon and star,
And sweet, low-tinkling music rings
About the lips of haunted springs.
In quietude of earth and air
'Tis meet we yield our souls to prayer.

And next up is the great Scotsman, Robert Louis Stevenson:

The Summer Shone Round Me

The summer sun shone round me,
The folded valley lay
In a stream of sun and odour,
That sultry summer day.

The tall trees stood in the sunlight
As still as still could be,
But the deep grass sighed and rustled
And bowed and beckoned me.

The deep grass moved and whispered
And bowed and brushed my face.
It whispered in the sunshine:
"The winter comes apace."