Today, at last, it's summer. The kids are finally out of school. I've finished grading my final exams. We're going to reacquaint ourselves with the outdoors, where it's green and red-flowered and steamy; I'm going to let my hair bloom and expand for a while before I go jump in the lake. And then in the pool. I'm going to read some books that don't matter and which I probably won't even talk about. There will be some new reviews here, but less frequently.
What other response to summer could I make, loving it as much as I do? Philip Larkin says it best:
Long roots moor summer to our side of earth.
I wake: already taller than the green
River-fresh castles of unresting leaf
Where loud birds dash,
It unfolds upward a long breadth, a shine
Wherein all seeds and clouds and winged things
Employ the many-levelled acreage.
Absence with absence makes a travelling angle,
And pressure of the sun
In silence sleeps like equiloaded scales.
Where can I turn except away, knowing
Myself outdistanced, out-invented? what
Reply can the vast flowering strike from us,
Unless it be the one
You make today in London: to be married?
What reply, indeed. If you can't stop reading this and go outside right now, tell me what you're going to do when you can get there.
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3 comments:
Warm weather is very distracting. I love going for long walks in the early a.m. before it gets to hot and drinking lemonade in the afternoons.
It's nice that I get my fix of poetry when I come by here. I only know what it means half the time, but I figure it's better than nothing.
Walk the dog. As a human being, there is no higher calling.tch@earthlink.net
Sigh. Cataloging books in Russian about detention : criminal-procedural aspects. (Also, it's cold and foggy here.)
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