Midsummer

 I saw the lawn was starred with white clover and golden oxalis blossoms as I was carrying in the groceries on this steamy day.  The birds have been mainly silent since the fireworks time.  The fireflies scarce as well.  The mimosa is putting out a big fizz of its salmon blossoms  -silent, scented mini-fireworks that the hummingbirds used to visit.  So few butterflies and bees these days, they are becoming as rare as hen's teeth.  The super full moon glowed through a hazy sky a few nights ago, but bright enough to cast shadows on the street.  We are in the time of quick downpours and booms of thunder any time of the day or night.  I sat in the cool house and mended two rayon dresses today as gossamer as the spider webs threading the old yew bushes guarding the front porch.  It is the time of sun tea and iced coffee, watermelon and fruit salads.  Time to lose myself in holy tomes and nap in the middle of the day. 

 

The world is holy. 

We are holy. All life is holy. 

Daily prayers are delivered on 

the lips of breaking waves, the whisperings 

of grasses, the shimmering of leaves.

― Terry Tempest Williams