The last afternoon in August

I look askance at the sky.  There are clouds, but there is also blue sky and sunshine. 

 The air is cool and inviting.

I have brought the spinning wheel out of the corner it lives in, into a place of prominence.  It is draped with the icy green roving I bought from the Knotty Knitter,

 begging to be made into wispy nests of rolags to be spun.

The spirit moves me, - it even moves me with a yearning to be outside on this lovely last afternoon in August. So I gather lengths of roving in a basket, pick up the telephone and some music and put the 'out in garden' sign on the front door, - and I make myself comfortable on the rocking seat.  I tease out the first length of green fleece and roll it up into a pretty nest...

It starts to sprinkle, - only small drops and scattered.  I have faith, - surely the rain won't continue. 

Look at all that blue sky!!  Ah, but look at the dark cloud right above me.

It starts to rain more.  I gather up the roving and the phone, cover the pillows on the rocking seat with a small tarp, and retire to the garage to watch and wait. 

 I pull open drawers on Charles' work desk, where small things still remain, - I pick out a couple of tiny screwdrivers, a little hammer, a combination tape and level and a leather case with a pair of fold up steel pliers.  I place them in my basket to keep them/him closer and look again at the sky.  The shower has moved on, but will it be replaced by another??

Oh well, - perhaps I will spend the afternoon of the first day of September in the garden instead and continue with teasing my roving indoors.....

Two poems that today catch my eye and settle in my mind and heart.......

the first by Mary Chivers, entitled   'Late August'

It's as if we're always preparing

for something, the endless roll of the earth

ripening us.

Even on the most tranquil

late August afternoon when heavy heads

of phlox bow in the garden

and the hummingbird sits still for a moment

on a branch of an apple tree-

even on such a day

evening approaches sooner

than yesterday, and we cannot help

noticing whole families of birds

arrive together in the enclosure,

young blue birds molted a misty grey,

coloured through no will of their own

for a journey.

On such an evening

I ache for what I cannot keep - the birds,

the phlox, the late-flying bees -

though I would not forbid the frost,

even if I could.  There will be more to love

and lose in what's to come and this too: desire

to see it clear before it's gone.

And the second I find in the 2010 edition of 'The Best Spiritual Writing' ----

A Measuring Worm

by Richard Wilbur

This yellow striped green

Caterpillar, climbing up

The steep window screen,

Constantly (for lack

of a full set of legs) keeps

humping up his back.

It's as if he sent

By a sort of semaphore

Dark omegas meant

To warn of Last Things.

Although he doesn't know it,

He will soon have wings,

And I, too, don't know

Toward what undreamt condition

Inch by inch I go.

I have exhausted the stash of dinners put away in the freezer.  Too many lazy days, -
 but tonight I am going to cook!

Baked Salmon with celery, tomatoes, lemon and mushrooms

Potatoes Anna, and creamed cauliflower - well, maybe just cauliflower with a bit of cheese on it!

Depends upon how the spirit moves me - I

go a lot by 'spirit' these days!