They called May: Maybe.
They called June: Juneuary.
What will they call July?
Yesterday was sunny but today a gray, low ceilinged sky, threats of showers on the radio and Mc Cain warning us to wear sunscreen.
I love the prolonged lilies. The cool dry air keeps them in suspended animation. Summer or at least summer’s flowers are in slow motion. An eternal anticipation as spent flowers gracefully decline along with our hopes for a hot summer.
Are we blue?
Why don’t we say “I’m gray” , when we feel under the weather?
We’ve got the grays. Cloud cover again. Long stretches of cloudy summer gray. It’s making a lot of people blue.
The sky, if it were blue, could change that in a heartbeat. Could make the lake shimmer with blue-ness and fill with swimmers. Blue could actually undo this mood.
Yet this gray sky has a magical effect, intensifying yellows, keeping the Copper King lilies blooming longer than expected, making the greens less heavy-handed, more fluid.
But it’s the blues that become luminous. Hopeful blues. enigmatic for seeming so unnatural. Attractive as a sunny day, not lemony yellow, but a bright blue.