Close friend of the maturing sun;
Conspires with him how to load and bless
With fruit, the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
To bend with apples the moss covered cottage-trees,
And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
And still more, later flowers for the bees,
Until they think warm days will never cease,
For Summer has over-brimmed their clammy cells.
Keats speaks to me. Keats lovers forgive my minor changes to turn a 19th century autumn offering into a 21st century summer blog.
My flowers are jumping out of the pots. Finches are nesting in a boot on the porch. Oregano and marjoram crushed in the palm spreads fragrance like lace. The days of summer in Alaska. Long days of sun ever present. Fireweed and forget-me-not. The treasures of the snow are far away today. God is here in abundance wherever I look.
Do you not know that I am everywhere in heaven and on earth?” Jeremiah 23:24
He is everywhere to make Himself known to the looking and I am looking. Looking hard to find Him in those things that vex, looking misty eyed and welcoming Him in those visions green and sweet. Begging Him to make me as Keats' fruit and filling me with ripeness to the core, over-brimming my life with honey sweetness and replenishing the dry places with dew.
We are the summer fruit He loves and planned for all the long winter of the world.