Last Hurrah of Summer

…That thou, light-winged Dryad of trees,

In some melodious plot

Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,

Singest of summer in full-throated ease…

Keats’ nightingale and I cry for summer with the same desire. But summer has come and is now gone. The leaves are crimson, yellow, red and orange, and form a carpet on the sidewalk as I walk Seth. The strong summer sun has been replaced by the mild autumn sun trying to penetrate the haze and fog in the morning. The beans, peppers and cherries are gone, and in their place are pumpkins, pears, squash and apples. Crisp chilly nights instead of clear balmy ones.

This meal, grilled vegetable lasagna, and a summer platter - is like the plaintive cry of the nightingale yearning for summer, its warmth, color and bounty.