September 29, 2017 by phicks2012
With Fall newly — and blessedly — arrived, I probably don’t need to dwell on the fact that summer is NOT really my top season. Nope. Fall is #1, Spring is #2, Winter is #3, and Summer trails along at the back of the seasonal pack at #4. I don’t care for sticky heat unless I’m within 6-inches of a cool water source: lake, stream, river, ocean, or water hose.
It, meaning “Summer”, has its good points, admittedly. That’s when my herbs and vegetables grow, and my flowers bloom, and the grass grows in the pastures so that I don’t have to spend quite as much on horse feed — because once the grass comes in mine tend to turn up their persnickety noses at hay anyway.
In Winter — at least in January and February — I sort of have to turn on the central heat, and in Summer I have to crank up the fans, because even though the Castle has thick walls it will still get muggy in the late afternoons when I refuse to use the air conditioning and quadruple my power bill. In Spring and Fall I’m comfortable, and everything is either freshly green and blooming or brightly colored and fresh once again.
But, I figured I needed to say something semi-nice/quasi-positive about Summer while it still WAS Summer, so I set fingers-to-keyboard and came up with the verse below. Hopefully some will like it, since I also plan to publish it in our monthly SCA newsletter “The Equinox” for the Shire of Sol Haven <–Note shameless plug there?
The summer sun can toast the skin, and burn the berry red,
And brown the wheaten kernal formed to render daily bread.
The summer’s touch can light the pool, and warm the rising stones,
And raise a shimmer o’er the lake, and bleach forgotten bones.
The summer’s heat can drown the flesh, and sluice the weary brow,
And leave us seeking such surcease as rainfall might allow.
The summer’s thrust can pale the sky and pierce the darkest shade,
And chase away the shadows that the thirsty night has made.
The summer’s warmth can make us bold, to shed our woolen gowns
And gaily dance upon the shores without our weighty crowns,
And feel the sands between our toes, and shield our seeking eyes,
Until to fall we eager turn at summer’s slow demise.
[1 September, A.S. LII, 2017]