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Saturday, June 28, 2008

Summer

Summer is . . . 

Cupped hands. Inside them you might find a wood frog.

Sting-eeze and band-aids to lessen the itching of mosquito bites.

Pipevine swallowtails in the purple cone flower.

A small boy with a green net and sparkly blue bucket yelling "I got a minnow!"

Polliwogs and crayfish.

Waiting on the patio for the first firefly flash. 

Crashing thunder at 5 am. Downpours.

*         *         * 

I'm still reading my River Styx 76/77 and loving every word of it. Albert Goldbarth's "That Was the Year" is my favorite among many wonderful tributes to food and what it means: love, culture, memory, and trying to understand the world and its inhabitants.

My children are teaching me patience. 


2 comments:

Maggie May said...

my children are teaching me helplessness! ok maybe that's not entirely right. but i am sending my son on a plane with his grandma. and i don't love it.

Martha Silano said...

and my sister is learning what it means to watch a daughter turn 13 and get her ears pierced. To lose her little girl. Ach, sometimes learning is so damn painful. I feel for you.