Poetry Friday: Summer's End

Summer's End 

by Karen Edmisten 

August, morning walk.

   The grasshoppers pole vaulting,

a season shifting.

~~~~~

The Poetry Friday round up is at Check It Out.

Bits and Pieces of Our Days

As Imperceptibly as Grief, the Summer Lapsed Away....

~~ Emily Dickinson 

No one can nail it quite like my girl Emily. 

~~~~~

I didn't mean to let the last few weeks slip by without writing. It just sort of happened, in the midst of a crazy late-July/early August. Some of the craziness had us dealing with some hard stuff (I don't mean to vague-blog...I'm sure I'll be able to say more soon), and some of it was just the busy-ness of life.

Atticus, for example, is already back at work. He started on August 9th. And, as happens every year, I'm scrambling to remember what it's like to think about making dinner every night. Can't remember where on Facebook I saw this, but it is the perfect new header for my "What's for Dinner?" chalkboard:

Pros and Cons of Making Food 

Pros: Food 

Cons: Making it 

~~~~~

This is one of our baby swallows. They nest on our back porch every year, and this year we were privy to every step of the fledglings leaving the nest. The girls and I were enchanted. 

~~~~~

I think Ramona should be a picture book illustrator. Here's her rendering of Ten and Rose. 

~~~~~

I love having a daughter who loves to bake. 

~~~~~

One of the highlights of every  month for Ramona: a new ScrawlrBox. Worth every penny for my teen artist. 

~~~~~

This cup? 

When my girls were little, it sported a Cookie Monster design. Over the years and through thousands of washings the design faded (as imperceptibly as grief, Cookie Monster lapsed away.) 

The cup has remained in the cupboard but this week it's going with Betsy to her first apartment.

Serve her well, Cookie Monster cup. We'll miss you. 

Poetry Friday: Hope is the thing with feathers

“Hope” is the thing with feathers
by Emily Dickinson

“Hope” is the thing with feathers -
That perches in the soul -
And sings the tune without the words -
And never stops - at all -

And sweetest - in the Gale - is heard -
And sore must be the storm -
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm -

I’ve heard it in the chillest land -
And on the strangest Sea -
Yet - never - in Extremity,
It asked a crumb - of me.

~~~~~

Donna has the round up at Mainely Write.