It's July

Last week the enormous far hay field was cut and baled.  The weather was sweltering.  The result was beautiful.  Baling hay is hot, hard work.  I love the visual reminder that our hard work yields beautiful (and nourishing) results. 

High summer: Queen Anne's lace is out, and the pasture is full of chicory.  We recently discovered, thanks to this poem, that chicory is the same thing as cornflower. I guess if I were writing this poem, I would include a stanza about hayfields!

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July

When the scarlet cardinal tells

Her dream to the dragonfly,

And the lazy breeze makes a nest in the trees,

And murmurs a lullaby, 

It's July. 

When the tangled cobweb pulls 

The cornflower's cap awry,

And the lilies tall lean over the wall

To bow to the butterfly, 

It's July.

When the heat like a mist veil floats,

And poppies flame in the rye,

And the silver note in the streamlet's thrat

Has softened almost to a sigh,

It's July.

When the hours are so still that time

Forgets them, and lets them lie

Underneath petals pink till the night stars wink

At the sunset in the sky, 

It's July. 

--Susan Hartley Swett