Swiftly Fly the Seasons

These summer weekends zoom by all too quickly. As Willy the Shake mentioned “summer’s lease hath all too short a date.“

On Saturday, Jen, Oni and I braved the hellacious late July weekend traffic and voyaged up to visit our pals Steve and Elaine in Beverly. I swear, at this time of year it’s always “rush” hour in Massachusetts. At nearly every moment of the day, or so it seems, the highways are bumper to bumper. Northward traffic is heading to Revere, Crane or Singing Beach. Southward is the even worse Cape gridlock. Heading west are all the folks bound for the Berkshires with its glorious forests, mountains, summer theaters, galleries, art and music fests.

About the only way to avoid the crush is to stay home. No can do — we must soar while the warm beautiful days are on us!

Now, we could take public transportation up to Steve and Elaine’s. That’d involve one bus, two subway lines and the commuter rail — two plus hours each way. Def doable but a harsh way to spend four or more hours on a gorgeous, sunny, July day.

Kvetch, grumble, grouse.

In any case, we got our sea and sand fix at Beverly’s sweet little town beach in Lynch Park and then back to the house for a magnificent feast. They crafted some brilliantly wild salad, grilled salmon, asparagus and more — all topped off with homemade ice cream and some phenomenal Bourbon (whose name escapes me).

We’ll see them again at the tail end of the season, just before the autumnal equinox, when our mutual friends Rick and Julie are here from Albuquerque. Ya know...if it’s a clear night maybe the gang of us can hit the beach, armed with telescopes, and do a bit of star gazing. Wow, that’d be awesome (she notes whilst patting herself on the back for coming up with such a fun scheme).

Jet ~Tony Hoagland

Sometimes I wish I were still out
on the back porch, drinking jet fuel
with the boys, getting louder and louder
as the empty cans drop out of our paws
like booster rockets falling back to Earth

and we soar up into the summer stars.
Summer. The big sky river rushes overhead,
bearing asteroids and mist, blind fish
and old space suits with skeletons inside.
On Earth, men celebrate their hairiness,

Go read the whole poem — it’s not long and every stanza is a sharp edged beauty.