The sounds and smells of Summer are…

Sunday, June 26, 2011

The sounds and smells of Summer are…

 

The sounds and smells of Summer are…

  • the sparrows waking me early, even before my alarm, with their morning song;
  • the crisp, clean, smell of a perfect green bean—washed, cut, and ready to can;
  • the sound of your Grandma yelling at me when she realizes I’ve been into her green beans;
  • the sweet air at Ostanek’s when we go to pick strawberries (I don’t know, but having that many strawberries really does something to the air—it is lighter, it is sweeter);
  • the deep, booming echo of the 4th’s fireworks off of the old ore dock;
  • peaches. Fresh peaches. Peaches by the peck.
  • the crackle of a June Lyrid burning up as it falls from the night sky;
  • lilacs! Lilacs! Everywhere, lilacs!
  • the soft bubbling from the aquarium where Grandma Schmitzer kept her black mollies;
  • the acoustic folk music of the Scandinavian Festival at the island;

I guess I don’t have much to say! Summer has never been my favorite season (in fact, it wouldn’t even come in 4th if I had to rank the seasons by how well I like them—I’d rank Autumn twice, I think, and leave Summer out altogether!). But I suppose even the things we aren’t fond of (i.e.: Summer) can bring us good, fond memories. So enjoy it while you can! All too soon it will be Autumn, and you’ll have to rake leaves.

 

All my love,

Aunt Sarah

P.S. I was joking about Grandma being angry at me for snitching from her garden.

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2 thoughts on “The sounds and smells of Summer are…

  1. SUMMER W.S.

    Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?
    Thou art more lovely and more temperate:
    Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,
    And summer’s lease hath all too short a date:
    Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines,
    And often is his gold complexion dimm’d;
    And every fair from fair sometime declines,
    By chance or nature’s changing course untrimm’d;
    But thy eternal summer shall not fade
    Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest;
    Nor shall Death brag thou wander’st in his shade,
    When in eternal lines to time thou growest:
    So long as men can breathe or eyes can see,
    So long lives this and this gives life to thee.
    (Sonnet 18)

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