Sunday, June 28, 2020
Egret / Oil on black canvas / 4x4 / $48 includes shipping
IT HAS BECOME SUMMER
, here on the Eastern Shore of Virginia. In the mornings, I can smell the marsh, rich with dirt and mud, salt and decay, orchestrated by the salt air and thick humidity. When we walk, it feels like we are pushing through a curtain of moisture, the air is so damp, so sultry.
The greenhead flies have shown up and they are vicious, biting and snapping at Liesl and the dogs and me, enough that we will move our walks away from the marsh for the next couple weeks. They chase us inland, still, but not as they do along the edge of the mud.
There will be no fireworks this year, no carnival. The huge family picnics that take place in the park every summer probably simply won't, this year. But the part-timers are here, driving faster than the rest of us, whether it's in cars or golf carts.
And yet, as all this is happening, the days are shortening - and if you focus, you will notice. I've squandered the long lengths of the summer days this year, unable to last, with any hope or optimism, much past suppertime. But earlier in the year, I gave up earlier in the day, so that is progress, and I am grateful.
The river flowers where I abide
with yellow jonquils by its side
And somewhere in its broad meander
runs roses wild and oleander
It springs down from the mountainside
where brooklets play at seek and hide
It lazes here where flowers grow
to swell with pride in early snow
And then to find a peaceful end
somewhere there around the bend.
- Guy Wilkins
From "Day Moon and other poems"
June 28, 2020
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