Autumn, You are Welcome Any Time

I realize that soon the summer heat will be a thing of the past. The cold autumn winds will force us to close the windows, and we'll wonder where the warm days went. Yet after this summer, I can't help but think I'll welcome those bitter winds. Sure, today is supposed to be the last scorcher for a while, but until the air grows cooler I fear that all inspiration to write will simply melt inside me.

So I say, bring on the yellow leaves, the orchards sagging with fall fruit, the woodsmoke and the football games. I'm ready, and I'm willing.

Hilda and the Heat

It's supposed to hit 97 today here in Chicagoland. I did my painting early, but we have to run errands soon, and we'll venture into that hazy hotness that is crisping my lawn as I write.

I thought a poem about the heat was in order; here's one by H.D. (Hilda Doolittle) which I thought was nice.

HEAT

O wind, rend open the heat,
cut apart the heat,
rend it to tatters.

Fruit cannot drop
through this thick air--
fruit cannot fall into heat
that presses up and blunts
the points of pears
and rounds the grapes.

Cut the heat--
plough through it,
turning it on either side
of your path.

H. D.