A Summer Afternoon in August

A few days ago we had a wonderful summer afternoon, with a cool breeze from the lake. Good to be out and about in old settings to check if they were as beautiful as remembered ūüėäūü•įūüĎŹ

I love to see the summer beaming forth
And white wool sack clouds sailing to the north
I love to see the wild flowers come again
And mare blobs stain with gold the meadow drain
And water lilies whiten on the floods
Where reed clumps rustle like a wind shook wood
Where from her hiding place the Moor Hen pushes
And seeks her flag nest floating in bull rushes
I like the willow leaning half way o’er
The clear deep lake to stand upon its shore
I love the hay grass when the flower head swings
To summer winds and insects happy wings
That sport about the meadow the bright day
And see bright beetles in the clear lake play

~ John Clare

A Tribute to Nature

“How do you like to go up in a swing,
Up in the air so blue?
Oh, I do think it the pleasantest thing
Ever a child can do!
Up in the air and over the wall,
Till I can see so wide,
River and trees and cattle and all
Over the countryside‚Ķ”
~ Robert Louis Stevenson, The Swing

The build of De Connick

The old garden with pond and frogs!

‚ÄúI like this place and could willingly waste my time in it.‚ÄĚ
~ William Shakespeare

A missing boat!

‚ÄúThere are moments, above all on June evenings, when the lakes that hold our moons are sucked into the earth, and nothing is left but wine and the touch of a hand.‚ÄĚ
~ Charles Morgan

Which fish should I choose?

Green Living


‘Hope‚Äô is the thing with feathers ‚Äď
That perches in the soul ‚Äď
And sings the tune without the words ‚Äď
And never stops ‚Äď at all ‚Äď

And sweetest ‚Äď in the Gale ‚Äď is heard ‚Äď
And sore must be the storm ‚Äď
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm ‚Äď

I‚Äôve heard it in the chillest land ‚Äď
And on the strangest Sea ‚Äď
Yet ‚Äď never ‚Äď in Extremity,
It asked a crumb ‚Äď of me.

Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.

By Emily Dickinson


Then something Tookish woke up inside him, and he wished to go and see the great mountains, and hear the pine-trees and the waterfalls, and explore the caves, and wear a sword instead of a walking-stick.
J.R.R. Tolkien, The Hobbit or There and Back Again

On A Hot Summer Day

Messing about in boats is a meaningful occupation on a hot summer day ūüôā

All this he saw, for one moment breathless and intense, vivid on the morning sky; and still, as he looked, he lived; and still, as he lived, he wondered.
Kenneth Grahame, The Wind in the Willows

Ah, summer, what power you have to make us suffer and like it.
Russell Baker


The Spirit of Poetry by Longfellow

The Spirit of Poetry
There is a quiet spirit in these woods,
Where, underneath the white-thorn, in the glade,

The wild flowers bloom, or, kissing the soft air,
The leaves above their sunny palms outspread.
With what a tender and impassioned voice
It fills the nice and delicate ear of thought,

When the fast ushering star of morning comes
Or when the cowled and dusky-sandalled Eve,
In mourning weeds, from out the western gate,
Departs with silent pace!  That spirit moves

In the green valley, where the silver brook,
From its full laver, pours the white cascade;
And, babbling low amid the tangled woods,
Slips down through moss-grown stones with endless laughter.
And frequent, on the everlasting hills,
Its feet go forth, when it doth wrap itself
In all the dark embroidery of the storm,
And shouts the stern, strong wind.  And here, amid

The silent majesty of these deep woods,
lts presence shall uplift thy thoughts from earth,
As to the sunshine and the pure, bright air
Their tops the green trees lift.  Hence gifted bards
Have ever loved the calm and quiet shades.

For them there was an eloquent voice in all
The sylvan pomp of woods, the golden sun,