All about the sun

Love it all: the lawnmowers, the dogs yelping, the cyclists going by, the motorcycles, the windows open to all of it all the time.

The breezes.

We’ve had breezes all Spring and Summer. Keeping all windows open to capture them.

It’s all about beauty.

Besotted, every day

That sun over there is edging upward, almost in place, ready to spill its glory onto my little corner of this big world. In truth, I am at its mercy this time of year. My big windows do their very best to capture as much of it as they can and to drench my old wooden floors with its significantly awesome pleasure.

It is why we are.

A perfect summer day calls for just this poem

The Summer Day
by Mary Oliver

Who made the world?
Who made the swan, and the black bear?
Who made the grasshopper?
This grasshopper, I mean-
the one who has flung herself out of the grass,
the one who is eating sugar out of my hand,
who is moving her jaws back and forth instead of up and down-
who is gazing around with her enormous and complicated eyes.
Now she lifts her pale forearms and thoroughly washes her face.
Now she snaps her wings open, and floats away.
I don’t know exactly what a prayer is.
I do know how to pay attention, how to fall down
into the grass, how to kneel down in the grass,
how to be idle and blessed, how to stroll through the fields,
which is what I have been doing all day.
Tell me, what else should I have done?
Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?
Tell me, what is it you plan to do
with your one wild and precious life?

from New and Selected Poems, 1992
Beacon Press, Boston, MA

Purple is perfect.