Archives for August 2016

Summer, Sudden: Now and Later:

Just a late afternoon observation.DSC00931

It’s 5:15 pm and the sky just cracked and let itself loose.  Downtown, the day’s just ended for the workforce and I imagine the consternation: “Should we try to make it for the car, or stay and see if it lets up?”  “Where’s my umbrella?”

I’m sitting, snug and dry on my deep front porch, Jameson chilling (just one cube) in a heavy crystal glass, a thick curtain of water sheeting down all around me.  The sky complains mightily at some unknown offense, and the old, old maples and oaks throughout the neighborhood bend and brush the undersides of the lowering clouds.  Suddenly, the wind dies.  The rain drops straight and hard as a tropical deluge.

In the last five minutes the temperature has fallen ten degrees.  The cars passing in the street arc tsunamis of fresh water across the tree lawns along the way.

Five minutes more and the drama has settled into the humdrum routine of a summer storm.  The sky still complains, but at a distance, like a chastised child massaging its wounded ego after a well-deserved reprimand.

Church Bells Ringing, Rainy Winter Night, 1917

Church Bells Ringing, Rainy Winter Night, 1917

The rain has all but stopped, now, and the neighborhood droops like a Charles Burchfield* painting, the trees, eaves, even the parked cars dripping in a syncopated liquid patter.

A gnat has fallen into my whiskey, but I continue to sip it anyway, the alcohol having provided its antiseptic benefit.  One should not waste good Irish.

Bug in the Jameson

Bug in the Jameson

Tonight is supposed to be the height of the Perseid meteor showers. Not a chance for a view with this cloud cover.  I’m a little disappointed, but it’s been a sweet summer shower and there’s always next year.

A few ghosts of mist, rising from the cool rain silvering the hot earth, float across my lawn.

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Here’s a poem I wrote some years ago, inspired by a line from a poem by Denise Levertov.  At the Window

  • * This Charles Burchfield painting is in the collection of the Cleveland Museum of Art

Meandering into Balance

sprinkler rainbowI’ve been assessing the arc and scope of my days, now that I am nearly 11 months into my retirement. I’ve kept busy with this blog, working on renovating my house, and with a few volunteer commitments that require a focus outside of myself. Early on I felt this last was important so as not to fall into navel-gazing self-indulgence or ennui, things I feared could take over my days ahead. But just this morning I was struck by a sense of lovely balance that comes as close as I have ever imagined to what an ideal retirement – a productive retirement – might be like.

Tomorrow I go to meet with my new part-time employer – one who has offered an opportunity for me to continue to contribute to the arts in a new way that will keep me growing in new ways as well. For the past several days I have been preparing for this meeting as well as finishing some volunteer work.

DSC00895

One tomato gone, another tasted.

But this morning, I woke early and, with nothing on the schedule after feeding the cats, I had, before 9:00, read the headlines and finished the N.Y. Times Crossword, chased two deer out of the garden (after losing a perfect, ripe tomato), painted the columns on my front porch, and set up the sprinkler to water the treatment applied to my lawn yesterday.  All the while the cicadas whirred and the birds looped through the yard to the feeder, the fence and the branches of the trees.  The sun sprinkled rainbows on my parched lawn and the deer kept watch on me from behind the neighbor’s fence.

The day felt both full and open.  I had time—and I had useful tasks, at different levels of personal challenge and satisfaction, both accomplished and ahead. I don’t think there’s a better example of what retirement should be.

Nothing for it but to be grateful.DSC00886-001

Here’s a beautiful poem about a deer from an unexpected source. The Visitation by Marge Piercy

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