|There was a pool...|
|and the little brook where I played as a child...|
|The old homestead where we both grew up was right next door.|
|There were black-eyed Susans in their yellow petticoats,|
|sweeps of delicate Queen Anne's lace,|
|and patches of sweet scented Joe Pye Weed.|
In the mornings I walked a mile up the road and back before breakfast. My days were lazy, spent tending my brother's small vegetable patch, flipping through magazines, splashing about in the pool. Evenings I rode my bicycle up West's hill and on past neighbor's houses, past the old familiar meadows and woods that marked my childhood. It was both exhilarating and nostalgic. My dreams were restless and peopled with those now gone.
|From this angle the hill looks mild, but my legs and lungs could tell you differently!|
Every night the sun sank slowly behind the mountain. I watched it kiss the tops of the tall corn leaves and bless the trees as it departed, trailing banners of pink and mauve and gold-tinged purple as it set.
|Sun saying goodnight to the trees.|
Now I'm home again and catching up on my own garden. Many of the cucumbers found their way into jars of pickles that will taste of summer on a winter's day. There are beans in the freezer as well as Swiss chard and eggplant.
I will be here until Thursday and then I'm off to Oregon to visit family there. When I return, summer will be over, my fridge will be full of tomatoes to jar, and school will be starting. My summer seems to have sped along as fast as the writing of this post!