August begins and ends on Full Moons, tonight and the 31st. The Sturgeon moon looked here last night, but a check with the Almanac corrected me. It will be good to have a full cycle of the moon during one named month’s bounds. And there will be meteor showers, if I can stay awake those nights.
Morning walk showed me quietness. There were not many people out between 6:30 and 7:15, a few commuters on Highway 70, a few more on distant Highway 119. A man having coffee on a porch gave me a wave. A woman walking and using weights gave me a slight smile. It wasn’t a morning for verbal greetings. The only one was a quiet, “Good morning.” Sounds of insects and calls of crows. A few songbirds. When I arrived home, I opened the windows and door for breakfast. I’d not drown the peace of the morning with tv or radio; I listed to Nature sounds while I enjoyed a quiet breakfast.
Summer is at full, and it’s wonderful. The town is ablaze with crepe myrtle tree blossoms. The two in my side yard–one red that compliments Red Car and one pink–are blooming huge this year, and in the woods across the street there is a scarf of white trumpet flowers mixed in the green, the first sight I have when I look out the bedroom window in the morning.
I don’t help Nature when I weed. I noticed on pulling grass, that the grass is softening the red clay into good dirt. There is a red mulberry tree growing up at the back stoop of a deck, and it threatens to uproot the stoop, and I suppose it should. Of course, I’ll cut it back severely and try to move it this fall. I’d rather have the mulberry than the porch, but I need the porch. And I need the mulberry; it will be easier to move the mulberry and hope I do so properly.
Weather turned violent again last week. On Friday (27th) in the late afternoon a thunderstorm with severe winds downed two large maple trees just four houses south of mine. My remaining pear tree was safe somehow. Walks through town showed me much destruction of trees; one fell on a car in a downtown parking lot and smashed it badly.
I did not always like the color pink in Nature. And then a number of years ago I found myself in March in the Tyrol of Italy in a small town with my young host Philip. We entered a rathsketter for dinner. In the lobby at the staircase was a small table covered with a white cloth on which was a pewter vase with three pink roses. It was beautiful. I began to understand the color pink. hHe pink crepe myrlte in my side yard frames my north window, a blessing.
It took me awhile to go back to a Uniterian-Universalist Church, but I did so last Sunday, the Congregation in Hillsborough, just a few minutes away. It was a good experience. The minister spoke about a book she had read on how difficult communication has become with those with whom values clash. She made a convincing summary and talked about how she measured her own moral values. The young pianist played a couple of Chopin preludes for offertory and Edward MacDowell’s “In Mid-Ocean” from his Sea Pieces for a prelude. Excellent music. Yesterday I received an email from one there, who invited me back. There is a covered dish dinner after service. I plan to go. I read on the internet there’s an inactive group of Earth-Centered Religious Folks there, and I might learn from them. Earth-centered religions interest me, and I feel an affinity for certain of their ideas, which resonate with me much more than my former beliefs in Christianity.
August with two Full Moons. Goal: to find a publisher for or self-publish my novel. Completion time, yes.
A Monday two-hour road trip to visit with Cousin LaVerne and her husband Willard. I left the interstate as soon as I could and took Highway 70 east. Farm lands in full production. There is no land more beautiful than rural Wayne and Lenoir Counties–flat, sandy land, fields open for acres and acres framed by pine and hardwood forests.
LaVerne and I went to a resturant for a salad for lunch and then went geocaching. Coordinates took us to a cemetery. We did not find the cache, but we enjoyed walking about the cemetery and reading interesting tombstones. LaGrange must have been quiet a place in its heyday. Now it’s mostly vacant stores. We stopped by to say hello to LaVerne’s piano teacher in her studio downtown. Her teacher is quite a proper Southern lady. Well-dressed, formal, quietly spoken, polite, reserved. She has a Boston grand in the studio. I do not know Boston grands.
A poem from our Aunt Emily–summer fun.
A soft Sea washed around the house
A Sea of Summer Air
And rose and fell the magic Planks
That sailed without a care–
For Captain was the Butterfly
And Helmsman was the Bee
And an entire universe
For the delighted crew. Emily Dickinson (c.1871)