On the southern New England shore yesterday, a strong breeze was blowing up the sand and women were wearing windbreakers at the height of the afternoon. The sky was deep blue with fast-moving puffy white clouds. A slight chill was in the air. I know that there are weeks more of summer, and surely warmer days to come, but I don’t recall seeing such a scene at the beach until late August in past years. We are closer now to the coming equinox than the past solstice. Driving across two states today, I couldn’t help but notice here and there, catching the light, red and gold leaves peeking out every so often from the overwhelming mass of green.
But the beach was lovely and the ladies of the Sandwich Glass Museum were very helpful. The glass itself was at times extraordinary, with large examples of colored overlay (or cased) glass carved into intricate cameo effects. I don’t think that having their display cases of amethyst glass in a window is such a good idea, though – those pieces shouldn’t get that level of sunlight. Anyway, when I feel the start of the seasonal tug as I did this weekend, I can’t help but turn to Howie. Regular posting will resume soon.
At dawn today the spider’s web was cold
With dew heavy as silver to the sight,
Where, kicked and spun, with clear wings befouled,
Lay in the shrouds some victims of the night.
This morning, too, as if they had decided,
A few first leaves came loose and drifted down
Still slopes of air; in silence they paraded
Their ominous detachment to the lawn.
How strange and slow the many apples ripened
And suddenly were red beneath the bough.
A master of our school has said this happened
“Quiet as grass can ruminate a cow.”
And now the seeds go on their voyages,
Drifting, gliding, spinning in quiet storms
Obedient to the air’s lightest laws;
And where they fall, a few will find their forms.
And baby spiders, on their shining threads,
The middle air makes glisten gold all day;
Sailing, as if the sun had blessed their roads,
Hundreds of miles, and sometimes out to sea.
This is the end of summer school, the change
Behind the green wall and the steady weather:
Something that turns upon a hidden hinge
Brings down the dead leaf and live seed together,
And of the strength that slowly warps the stars
To strange harbors, the learned pupil knows
How adamant the anvil, fierce the hearth
Where imperceptible summer turns the rose.
-- Howard Nemerov
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