Almost anyone who loves literature is familiar with the famous lines by William Wordsworth:
“It is a beauteous evening, calm and free,
The holy time is quiet as a Nun
Breathless with adoration…; the broad sun
Is sinking down in its tranquillity…” *
The past couple of evenings have been just like that here, an unusual occurrence in this maritime climate. Usually the fog rolls in, the wind picks up, or it just plain becomes too chilly to sit outside and enjoy the later part of the evening. But of late, the days have been uncomfortably hot, while dusk has been pure perfection.
After almost a month of seemingly incessant rains, we are finally getting a bit of summer, bitter-sweet, of course, as it will all end soon and there will be a nip in the night air. It is wonderful to be outside and see, hear, and even smell the exuberant enjoyment others are taking in this late start to a very abbreviated summer. The sound of laughter on nearby decks, the whiff of a barbeque, and the shrieking and splashing of children in a swimming pool are sheer delight.
Photography Courtesy Of BigFoto
The sunsets have been spectacular, the stars, well, stellar, and my poetic imagination took flight as last evening’s sky became streaked with ever-changing pinkish clouds. This is the result:
Where have you gone, mid-summer mandolin?
Have you slid smoothly into saxophone or falter-fainted
into flute? Have you vanished just to reappear
as vapour-violin, strings puce-plucked in evening sky,
frets a faded rose? Have you trickled into piccolo,
your tune of paltry pitch, transformed into tuba,
or swelled to sousaphone? Or is your symphony
such sound as stirs my sun-starved heart,
your August grandeur so august as to mystify my soul?
Carol Knepper ©2009
* from the Petrarchan sonnet “It is a Beauteous Evening, Calm and Free” by William Wordsworth