An August week for sure,
when morning light arrived more slowly,
and the sun set before we were ready to lose its light.
A week when rose hips began
their more subdued replacement of earlier beach roses,
and when Queen Anne’s lace and clover lined the canal.
A week of noticeable difference in the light
and the deepening of shadows as we wandered
familiar paths along bogs, beaches, and canal.
A week that included the familiar
sights and sounds of the Chart Room,
and chicken piccata at home.
Comfort of the constant in times of so much change.
A week when our thirsty hydrangeas and parched landscape
celebrated the arrival of much needed rain.
A week when the bike path reindeer waved a flag.
Perhaps in hope that our democracy will survive.
A week when the beginning of seasonal change
came in the form of flourishing Queen Anne’s lace.
A week when an appetizer mirrored social distancing,
and the addition of capers and olives elevated
chicken to new heights, bringing a touch of Italy home.
casualty of Covid.
tube of lipstick.
Application so pointless
under a mask.
Adapting to the times.
A picture from last year.
An appetizer of hummus
topped with veggies
in a lemon vinaigrette.
Toasted pita chips.
A communal platter.
Flash forward a year.
Same inviting recipe
following social distancing.
A week when I found myself drawn to symbols of hope.
Once a devotee of sunsets, my focus has turned to sunrises.
A week that began with petunia plants devoid of flowers,
and ended with a glorious new crop.
A week that included a simple saute of seasonal vegetables,
and an authentic recipe for Kung Pao Chicken.
A week when an Adirondack chair enticed
with arms that beckon and enfold.
A week when a jig-saw puzzle taught me patience.
And a week when the first acorns hit the deck
with the staccato note of change.
A week when joy was found in little things.
The simple pleasure of windows thrown wide
as the north wind chased humidity away for two perfect days.
A week when the purples and blues of Hydrangeas tantalized at every turn.
A week when corn and tomatoes, and flourishing herbs
dominated the food scene, and a new salad spinner was a cause for delight.
A week when a print copy of Atlantic arrived to supplement our digital version.
Print for me; digital for Frank. Two styles of learning successfully addressed.
Morning breeze making
a fleeting but welcome attempt
to temper the humidity
that envelops our shore.
Heavy dew of a sultry night
evaporating with the rising sun.
An Osprey of almost prehistoric size
circles above, eyeing prey
for her developing brood.
It’s July on Cape Cod,
but only by designation on the calendar.
Simple pleasures of early morning
briefly ease the stress of the larger world.
A tentative world fearful of human contact,
where masks muffle speech and hide smiles.
Where social distancing permeates
our thoughts and actions.
Where spontaneous hugs have vanished
more quickly than the dew.
A week when Hydrangeas reigned in all their glory.
A week when the essence of summer was captured
by ready access to basil leaves outside our door.
A week when a family of swans called our local marsh home.
A week when lights adorned an awning over the deck table
adding a delightful touch of whimsey to summer nights.
A warm week when salads held the most appeal.
A picturesque salad at the Flying Bridge, and the simple delight
of a Caprese salad and crusty bread at home.
A week when Frank’s nemesis, the cute little chipmunk,
kept winning the bird feeder challenge.
A week when Cardinals and Bluejays added
song and fluttering color to our yard.
A week when blooming Dogwood and Daylilies lined the bike path,
and Lacy Hydrangeas began their transformation to July splendor.
A week when the temptation of Flying Bridge’s onion rings
couldn’t be denied, and when Mary’s celestial strawberry cake
captured the season and heralded the 4’th of July!
A week when our world bloomed at every turn.
When daylillies greeted each morning with a trumpet like burst.
A week when the bird feeder became a chipmunk’s snack bar,
thwarting all Frank’s efforts to keep him at bay.
A week when blueberries reached their favor peak,
and my attempt at homemade pita bread was only
a limited success, looking better than it tasted.
A week when social distancing eased enough to allow
for the sweetness of much needed contact,
and local restaurants welcomed us back
to newly configured seating in outdoor spaces.
A week of tentative steps into today’s new normal.