Summer solstice

More than necessary

It’s summer

The solstice

I subtract the things

Which call forth

More

And more

And more

Than necessary

Summer solstice.

Lo the rhubarb

Thank God for rhubarb.

Clouds and sun

Come and go

Or maybe it’s me

Opening

Closing

My eyes.

They may indeed

Be stationary.

The wind blows strong

Now it is quiet.

Perhaps it is me

Imagining spring

Hoping for summer

Thinking change

Is on the horizon.

Maybe change

Will blow in.

Lo the rhubarb

Holds true

Anchors the ground

Steadfast.

Bright pink

Amazing to me what brings back memories.  Sometimes it's just a particular color.

Bee balm

Bright pink as the color

Of my favorite summer dress

Age 6.

I wore it

To the San Diego Zoo.

I remember the tigers

The California cousins

My bright pink dress

Just like the bee balm blooming

Next to the backyard fountain

With two children

Holding an umbrella.

The backyard fountain,

Now a planter

With marigolds and celosia,

Even amaranthus

And next to it,

Blooming,

Bright pink bee balm

The exact same color

As my favorite summer dress

Age 6.

CSA

It seemed time for another go-round for Community Supported Agriculture.  This is the third CSA for the Phillips/Hill household.  I*m not sure there is a CSA without beets on the menu.

On a whim

I ordered weekly vegetables 

Again

I have done this

In the past

But we ended up

With a refrigerator full

Of beets.

This week we are promised

Sugar snap peas

Garlic scapes

Spinach

An unusual turnip

And yes

Of course

Beets.

On a whim I ordered a summer

Of weekly vegetables.

This year I aim to get a handle

On the beets

Eat them or give them away

To beet people.

Line-up

More weather.  Maybe this year I am paying attention in a different way.  Could be.  Still... it seems that I have seen more ominous weather this summer.  It feels like way more than simple rain, a normal summer thunderstorm.

The rain and winds arrive suddenly,

Then suddenly

Again.

I watch the weather

Line up in the west

The clouds like football players

Roiling in patterns

Fancy footwork

Only determined by some coach

Somewhere.

This happens every summer

He says

But me

I do not remember a summer

Like this one.

This is not the usual line-up

Of clouds

To the west.

If it happens every summer

Like this

I must have been asleep

Before.

Pretending

Sometimes seasons are illusory, mis-named.  So.  Sitting here in the warm pretending it is summer.

I pretend

It is summer.

If I sit inside

Crank up the heat,

Gaze at the flowers,

Listen to the cardinal

Through the closed window,

I can almost lull myself

Into summer thoughts,

Picture a hammock

A tall iced drink

When the clouds clear

The sun emerges.

I will not need

To water the new plantings.

The morning rain

Has taken care of that.

I pretend

It is really summer.

I note the calendar,

Make summer plans

In the warm house

Listen to birds

Through the closed window.

Dish garden

March 14 and it feels like summer.  It is so early for so warm: I*m not quite sure how to take it.  While I hold thoughts that it is too good to be true, I look at my window well, watch a barefoot child, and dream of dish gardens blooming outside my window.

It is oddly spring.

Already it feels summer.

People lay bets on how it will all

Play out.

Is this really it?

It is not too late for a final snow.

The insects have barely begun.

I wonder about who or what pollinates

The crocus,

Whether the space

In my window well

Will hold a dish garden

Or perhaps an amaryllis.

A small blonde girl

Walks barefoot through the grass.

She giggles.

Already it feels

Like summer.

I think a dish garden

Will do the trick.

Perhaps next week

A dish garden.