{"id":11720,"date":"2014-08-16T08:59:25","date_gmt":"2014-08-16T12:59:25","guid":{"rendered":"http:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/?p=11720"},"modified":"2014-08-16T10:58:48","modified_gmt":"2014-08-16T14:58:48","slug":"missing-august-light","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/blogs.northcountrypublicradio.org\/allin\/2014\/08\/16\/missing-august-light\/","title":{"rendered":"Missing August light"},"content":{"rendered":"
\""Clover<\/a>

“Clover Fields,” Rockwell Kent<\/p><\/div>\n

Two years ago I had this idea that each month of the year shone with its own unique quality of light, and that I should write a twelve-poem cycle that would capture those qualities. As it is with many summer projects, I made a start but couldn’t follow through because–well–because hammock, because barbecue. You know how it goes.<\/p>\n

I ran across the abortive effort last night, one poem imaginatively titled “August Light,” and realized that in this chilly August, this particular light has been completely passed over. As long as you’re all showing off your North Country stoicism by resisting the impulse to fire up the furnace “just to take the chill off,” maybe this will provide you with a little warmth.<\/p>\n

August Light<\/strong><\/p>\n

In the cool morning of a hot day
\nthe road is lined with chicory,
\npurple loosestrife, buttercups
\nand Queen Anne\u2019s lace.<\/p>\n

The corn is green, grass is brown,
\nthe sky blue, except at the horizon
\nwhere haze tints the raking light
\nthe same shade as lemonade.<\/p>\n

When I was five I would walk
\nin lemon light all by my lonesome
\n(without crossing the street)
\nto the store for a five-cent treat.<\/p>\n

And at ten, identical light shone
\ndown through filtering oaks
\nwhere I crossed the rusted tracks
\nto mess about beside the river.<\/p>\n

It was light the shade of lemonade
\nI was trying to evoke at twenty,
\nsweating out the writing workshop,
\nbeating at the page like a moth.<\/p>\n

At forty, this light lit up my dad–
\nelbow out the window, pipe in teeth,
\nball-capped, driving a ’67 Safari,
\ntrailing his motorboat toward heaven.<\/p>\n

Memory, sweet and sour, mixed
\nlike lemonade in August light.
\nEverything everywhere always shining–
\nthat is how the light looks now.<\/p><\/blockquote>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

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