(This post was last modified: 09-01-2017, 04:43 AM by Mickey Oberman.)
Right now I would like to be with you in that wonderland.
It is going down to -9C in Toronto tonight.
Sorry. That should be 9C. It is still too cold for the tail end of summer.
Here is my favourite poem as penance for my goof.
It is so accurate in every detail. Especially this year, the smoke from forest fires.
The End of Summer
by Edna St. Vincent Millay
When poppies in the garden bleed,
And coreopsis goes to seed,
And pansies, blossoming past their prime,
Grow small and smaller all the time,
When on the mown field, shrunk and dry,
Brown dock and purple thistle lie,
And smoke from forest fires at noon
Can make the sun appear the moon,
When apple seeds, all white before,
Begin to darken in the core,
I know that summer, scarcely here,
Is gone until another year.