You look at the colors,
vibrant and rich, the color of life,
and you understand how painters
and poets go mad, trying

to paint something so perfect
that to begin,
is to fail.

~ Tom Atkins writes at Quarry House ~

The garden is full of bulbous kohlrabi, scarlet tomatoes, the crimped edges of lettuce leaves calling to the rabbits. It is the busy days of blanching, freezing, canning, pickling. In between it all, I am still fainting. And living crazily, trying to fit everyone and everything in. Sucking the marrow out of the long hot days of summers end.

Better a dinner of herbs where love is, than a stalled ox and hatred therewith.
(Proverbs 15:17)

The crickets sang in the grasses. They sang the song of summer's ending, a sad, momentous song. "Summer is over and gone," they sang. "Over and gone, over and gone. Summer is dying, dying." The crickets felt it was their duty to warn everybody that summer cannot last forever. Even in the most beautiful days of the whole year - the days when summer is changing into fall - the crickets spread the rumor of sadness and change. "How many nights till frost?" sang the crickets. "Goodbye summer, goodbye, goodbye!"
~ E.B.White, Charlotte's Web ~