LATE SUMMER
I, dusty and bedraggled as I am,
Pestered with wasps and weeds and making jam,
Blowzy and stale, my welcome long outstayed,
Proved false in every promise that I made,
At my beginning I believed, like you,
Something would come of all my green and blue.
Mortals remember, looking on the thing
I am, that I, even I, was once a spring.
--C. S. Lewis, 1898-1963.
Just yesterday as I was taking the kids to their grandparents house I detected amongst the baking shaggy foliage, the hint, just an instant flicker of doubt, as if summer had just crested over its summit and began to tilt towards downhill and fall. It passed like a strobe of summer lightning and afterwards I thought it was my imagination...But now today it is rainy and cooler and just a little easier to believe that I was witness to "the moment."
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