wishy-washy summer

is it summer? maybe it's still spring. it is forty degrees cooler here today than it was two days ago. oh, midwestern seasons. i can't be sure if this is a result of human beings + our consumption of the earth, or if it's just the typical fickle style of weather in the midwest.

i came across a poem set in the summer. i like it because it articulates the anticipation and possibility of the season. for some reason, the summer has always meant endless possibility to me. and we are just at the beginning...!

i tried each thing, only some were immortal and free.

elsewhere we are as sitting in a place where sunlight

filters down, a little at a time,

waiting for someone to come. harsh words are spoken,

as the sun yellows the green of the maple tree. . . .

so this was all, but obscurely

i felt the stirrings of new breath in the pages

which all winter long had smelled like an old catalogue.

new sentences were starting up. but the summer

was well along, not yet past the mid-point

but full and dark with the promise of that fullness,

that time when one can no longer wander away

and even the least attentive fall silent

to watch the thing that is prepared to happen.

—from john ashbery's "as one put drunk into the packet-boat"

it is FINALLY friday.
let's go—!

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