In lieu of trying to belong to any number of societies: Chesterton, Sherlock Holmes, the Inklings, and so on: I propose and establish one of my own. Don your intelligence cap at the door; dust off your logic and imagination; did you bring your inspiration and encouragement? We are shapers, my friends; lit lamps; light-bringers. Bring quotes; poetry should be uplifting and thoughtful, or witty and clever, (or both). Humor is encouraged; laughter is invited back. Pull up a chair. Anyone for tea?

___________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Just a bit of afternoon

It had been a while since the last time I lay on sun-parched grass and sun-baked earth, soaking in the extraordinary vastness of the sky, with its shreds of careless cloud raked into magical patterns. Gazing through those clouds into the misty azure beyond, I tried to imagine layer upon layer of atmosphere above me, and the incredible depth. And then, as if to make a little joke of me, there flew across my plane of vision, a bird--probably an eagle or a vulture--flying so high above me that it looked like a speck of pepper; and it was still so far beneath the clouds...

I miss the country for this very reason: the perspective of immensity--miles of line-fence, square mile upon mile of shimmering crop-fields dotted sometimes with great round bales; overhung by that broad and ancient sky. It's only over the prairie that I see that expanse so markedly. These days I cherish any chance I get to just lay and watch the sky, or listen to the wind through fluttering leaves.

The Stark games have been a great opportunity for sunshine and a bit of country air. Most of the games are in the country, but home games are the best. Last week there was practice at Stark before the game. I drove Ben, and played catch with him a bit to warm up his arm. And then I just lay there in the good clean dirt and grass and air. That great blazing sun and summer breeze was just what I wanted, and it was certainly conducive to writing.

I watched the American flag rippling between the light-poles on the opposite side of the field. Corn and soy fields stretched to the horizon, broken up by groves and farmyards. The corn is beginning to tassel. Killdeer were flying about, squawking; other nameless, distant birds flitted about, adding to the general peace.

I've begun rereading A New Song again. It's such a very summery volume, and I'm in the mood for Mitford again. Jan Karon has such a way with words; turning the ordinary into something lovely. There are several books that I associate vividly with the hot summer sun. A New Song is one of the them. Linnets and Valerians is another. It's amazing how strong some associations can be. There are other books that immediately put a song in my head, a song without correlation except that I listened to it while I read those words for the first time...

2 comments:

Lyndsay said...

What a lovely post, Livi. Love and miss you. <3

Julian said...

Lovely post indeed! I love all the mitford books. I wish there were more!
Christina