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Two wax department store mannequins melting from a heat wave in London, England (1929)


Part of me would like to have a few more Summer like days- plenty of Sunshine and Blue skies and in the evening I want to sit outside and look up an evening sky full of stars.

But that part is a stupid dork and I cannot wait for Summer to be over.

I hate the heat, the smoke from fires from God knows where and I hate being reminded that women my age need to be careful to not wear any sort of Summer clothing that will draw attention to ourselves because women in their 50’s are so offensive to the eye.  That pretty much leaves us to wearing boxy oatmeal colored outfits and flip flops with – if you’re wild enough- little flowers on them somewhere.


I do enjoy the being in the Mountains or hiking with my dog who is only four years old so the world is pretty brand spanking new to him.

I love watching Hamish literally quiver with excitement when he sees ducks ( he loves watching them swim )  or finds food tossed in the bushes and the joy he has trying to find a way to let me near him so he can get it.

But for the most part when I look up and see that stupid flaming star of ours I want to spit.

I struggle with my hatred of Summer and everything it has to offer- I know it’s not a rational hatred.

On the other hand, people who are insanely attached to a Star that is destined to day burn the Earth to a crisp  while slathered in sunscreen and not enough deodorant or too much perfume isn’t rational either, is it?

Daily Addictions Prompt: Wrangle

Steadfast and Enduring Bones

   When I meet the morning beam,
Or lay me down at night to dream,
I hear my bones within me say,
“Another night, another day.”

    “When shall this slough of sense be cast,
This dust of thoughts be laid at last,
The man of flesh and soul be slain
And the man of bone remain?”

    “This tongue that talks, these lungs that shout,
These thews that hustle us about,
This brain that fills the skull with schemes,
And its humming hive of dreams,-“

    “These to-day are proud in power
And lord it in their little hour:
The immortal bones obey control
Of dying flesh and dying soul.”

    ” ‘Tis long till eve and morn are gone:
Slow the endless night comes on,
And late to fulness grows the birth
That shall last as long as earth.”

    “Wanderers eastward, wanderers west,
Know you why you cannot rest?
‘Tis that every mother’s son
Travails with a skeleton.”

    “Lie down in the bed of dust;
Bear the fruit that bear you must;
Bring the eternal seed to light,
And morn is all the same as night.”

    “Rest you so from trouble sore,
Fear the heat o’ the sun no more,
Nor the snowing winter wild,
Now you labour not with child.”

    “Empty vessel, garment cast,
We that wore you long shall last.
-Another night, another day.”
So my bones within me say.

    Therefore they shall do my will
To-day while I am master still,
And flesh and soul, now both are strong,
Shall hale the sullen slaves along,

    Before this fire of sense decay,
This smoke of thought blow clean away,
And leave with ancient night alone

   The steadfast and enduring bone.


A Shropshire Lad – XLIII – The Immortal Part

by A. E. Housman