The White Light of August

The white light of August showed up last week.  It's funny how I'm trained to notice it after coming to know the poem, August Light, (from the Arrowhead Scholar) written by SC poet laureate, Bennie Lee Sinclair, who was one of my writing teachers at Furman University.  She was an intelligent and kind teacher and I learned much from her by osmosis as opposed to a strongly opinion-oriented approach to teaching poetry.  I now view the August white light as a shift, bittersweet that carefree summer will end, and an indication of the transition from outer play to the deeper more internal days which lay ahead.

As an introvert, I welcome these days - the hermit times.  I prefer them to the light and airy (and this year's hot) days of summer, perhaps because I'm from the north and am more used to cloudy, rainy days and cool breezes. So it was with great relief when I happened to be doing some early morning garden maintenance that I looked down, and there it was, the golden summer light changed to white.  This shift totally changes everything in my garden, making it feel cooler. It look more mysterious for some reason.  At this time, my garden is a throng of powerful green growth, the trees and shrubs heavily laden with leaves, overhanging the entire perimeter, most of the statuary and garden beds buried in hidden bowers and secretive shadows.  The air is a bit crisper in the mornings when I wake up before dawn and I can take a deep breath and not feel s if I'm being smothered by a sweat soaked glove.
I took more hermit time as well as a break from the novel to start making some of the items that will be available at the silent auction at the Upstate Steampunk Extravaganza the end of next month. I started a Victorian/Art Noveau themed handmade book using 6 Gypsies, Tim Holtz, Graphic 45 and lots of odd bits and pieces.