marycatelli (marycatelli) wrote,
marycatelli
marycatelli

shades of summer

The tiger lilies out, fiercely orange -- both in the gardens and feral in vacant lots -- and it's hard to tell at a glance which ones are which, you have to look about them, at what's growing about them, to tell, because the great shaggy growths do not tell you.

Sweet peas blossoming in profusion of pinks, all over a slope.

The clouds in wisps have a square of rainbow, from red to violet, pale imposed on one square on. Later, there is a cloud with a peacock ribbon on its side, shifting out from violet to green, a wide band. As the wind shifts it, the yellow appears, and even a stretch of red on a projected spread of thread-like cloud, but mostly the peacock.

The gray day damps down the green, lessening its vividness, but the other colors are often more brilliant, yellow hop clover, pink cone flowers, others purple and blue -- and alas, blotches of brilliantly amber grass, where the rain came too late. Before one house there are three such squares, where the drought had some help; they are too square to be anything but something lying on the grass and killing all below.

It rains, it rains -- and before it was cloudy all day -- but stepping out finds that the day is still hot, and hotter than many a day when the sun is fierce. And muggy, which of course confuses it.

Chicory stands stark and stiff, its stems like jagged twigs in their joints. It helps to see it at a distance. . . though once, climbing an exit in the early morning, the roadside had back-lit chicory, with all the stems jagged and black and the light glowing through the flowers, illuminating the blue.

Ducks scattered on the pond, most of them melding into the lily pads and pond scum with their shades of brown, but one is a striking white, and several in black and white -- hard to be sure of them, but I think they were mergansers, from where the colors lays.

Summer shows which trees have died. . . barren and leafless as in the dead of winter. . . one was struggling on one branch, which was leaved, but then they took the whole thing down.

A tree turns -- that crispy shade of brownish orange that showed it gave up in the grip of drought. The trees to either side look somewhat stressed as well -- in July.

A snake slithers across the road, its coils shifting, its body as thin as my little finger but as long as my arm. I take the long route about the corner where it slithers.

I am walking briskly along, and in the windshield of a parked car -- I see a rainbow, reflected. I blink, I look about, I wonder whether it was something on the windshield, until I crick my neck and look straight up. A rainbow arches across the sky, with clouds so faint they are little more than a white veil on the blueness. Very odd it looks, because from my angle, it looks upside down. I walk on. And on. The rainbow lingers long. Sometimes dimmer, sometimes brighter; a scrap of cloud passing through glowed with whiteness about it as the colors brightened like jewels; a different clouds dulled them; once, the upside arc is matched by two colorful sundogs, one to either side of the sun.

Walking along the street, next to the willow-lined brook, with starlings and sparrows flitting away if they find me too close, and then, bursting from behind a willow coppice full of leaves, enormous, a heron takes flight over the street, making me jump back. It's crossed half of it before I can lay a name to it.

A rabbit sits warily beside the road, compact, its ears up, and while it's not silhouetted, the slanting dawn sunlight gilds the edges of the brown fur.
Tags: nature
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