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Another Summer Night
Aug. 8th, 2004 04:18 amThere has been a bit more warmth tonight. If there were a pool, this would have been a good night for a moonlight swim. It would have started rather late, though, as the moon didn't rise until near midnight, and it probably would have involved a drowning, as I don't know how to swim. Other than that....
Small winged creatures continue to flit about in the house, and are particularly attracted to Sluggo's monitor. I'm glad somebody's having a good time with Sluggo. I prefer being outdoors, watching the summer stars and smelling the skunk scent that drifts from the nearby woods. The cat prefers being outdoors, too, though I don't know what she thinks of the skunk scent.
The sky has a velvet look tonight, and the stars are soft against the deep shade of blue. It is very different from the black void of a winter night, when the stars are like sharp shards of ice. Were it not for the scorching days, I would have no complaints about summer. The nights are a world of their own, but they are gone before I weary of them.
Once again, by darkness the town all but concealed, the early Sunday silence prevailing, the near horizon of dark, towering shapes seems ageless. Though on this ridge, the woodlands have been thinned, and houses hug the canyon verges, the forests of these mountains are more dense than they have been in more than a century. I sense them, climbing ridge after ridge down the length of the range, a deeper gathering of darkness in the vast night. They seem especially present in summer, when the smell of pine never leaves the air. That must be why they have been in my mind much of late. Trees, I have concluded, have more power than we once realized. My suspicion grows that they will prevail, in the end, despite what might have seemed certain only recently. Consider the words of Yvor Winters only a few decades ago in todays...
( Sunday Verse )
Small winged creatures continue to flit about in the house, and are particularly attracted to Sluggo's monitor. I'm glad somebody's having a good time with Sluggo. I prefer being outdoors, watching the summer stars and smelling the skunk scent that drifts from the nearby woods. The cat prefers being outdoors, too, though I don't know what she thinks of the skunk scent.
The sky has a velvet look tonight, and the stars are soft against the deep shade of blue. It is very different from the black void of a winter night, when the stars are like sharp shards of ice. Were it not for the scorching days, I would have no complaints about summer. The nights are a world of their own, but they are gone before I weary of them.
Once again, by darkness the town all but concealed, the early Sunday silence prevailing, the near horizon of dark, towering shapes seems ageless. Though on this ridge, the woodlands have been thinned, and houses hug the canyon verges, the forests of these mountains are more dense than they have been in more than a century. I sense them, climbing ridge after ridge down the length of the range, a deeper gathering of darkness in the vast night. They seem especially present in summer, when the smell of pine never leaves the air. That must be why they have been in my mind much of late. Trees, I have concluded, have more power than we once realized. My suspicion grows that they will prevail, in the end, despite what might have seemed certain only recently. Consider the words of Yvor Winters only a few decades ago in todays...
( Sunday Verse )
