“On such a day, the mere intaking of one’s breath is a joy. The sky spreads above us, a shimmering sea of blue — not the cool and crystalline sapphire of early morning, but the deep dense azure of midsummer noon. How hot the bees must feel in that furry coat! As we lie basking in the sunlight, and watching the buttercups dancing and dipping above the grass, like golden banners amid an army of green-bladed bayonets… We see the hot air quivering and simmering above the clover fields, but all else is drowsily, dreamily, still. The streets of the far-off city are reeking with dusty heat, but here we are in another world, and the bees and the butterflies are our brethren. This meadow is our boundless prairie; our heads are below the level of the grass tops which spread filmy arms above, like the boughs of a miniature forest.”

~Coulson Kernahan (1858–1943)

Joyfully shared by Betty Hanselman

Gardener’s wife (& summer celebrant)