Summer Afternoon

According to Henry James, the two most beautiful words in the English Language—and at this time of year I would have to say I agree—the way

Sun falls silently, clouds billow by, and we see slight lengthening of shadows And sky—and we linger knowing full well fall will be here all too soon—I

Think of returning to the sea, to a blistering ferry ride where I got the worst Sunburn of my life—I think of wicket white furniture gracing porches—I

Think of all the good-byes made sweeter by the promise of a return—to a Summer afternoon as generations pass and new ones are born—I think of

White hydrangeas, the color of the end of summer—I think of men in suits And women wearing flowing dresses and sitting still for picnics, for outings

In the forest, taking tea, for the reminder that another summer afternoon Will vanish too soon, those summer afternoons that once stretched forever.

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