Summer Days

Summer Days

-Wathen Marks Wilks Call (1817–90)

IN summer, when the days were long,
We walk’d, two friends, in field and wood;
Our heart was light, our step was strong,
And life lay round us, fair as good,
In summer, when the days were long.

We stray’d from morn till evening came,
We gather’d flowers, and wove us crowns;
We walk’d mid poppies red as flame,
Or sat upon the yellow downs,
And always wish’d our life the same.

In summer, when the days were long,
We leap’d the hedgerow, cross’d the brook;
And still her voice flow’d forth in song,
Or else she read some graceful book,
In summer, when the days were long.

And then we sat beneath the trees,
With shadows lessening in the noon;
And in the sunlight and the breeze
We revell’d, many a glorious June,
While larks were singing o’er the leas.

In summer, when the days were long,
We pluck’d wild strawberries, ripe and red,
Or feasted, with no grace but song,
On golden nectar, snow-white bread,
In summer, when the days were long.

We lov’d, and yet we knew it not,
For loving seem’d like breathing then;
We found a heaven in every spot;
Saw angels, too, in all good men,
And dream’d of gods in grove and grot.

In summer, when the days are long,
Alone I wander, muse alone;
I see her not, but that old song
Under the fragrant wind is blown,
In summer, when the days are long.

Alone I wander in the wood,
But one fair spirit hears my sighs;
And half I see the crimson hood,
The radiant hair, the calm glad eyes,
That charm’d me in life’s summer mood.

In summer, when the days are long,
I love her as I lov’d of old;
My heart is light, my step is strong,
For love brings back those hours of gold,
In summer, when the days are long.

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A Bowl of Fruit

Grandma’s House

Sheets snapping in the wind
The smell of the garden
A wheelbarrow and rake

Apple pies in open windows
A board game set up on the kitchen table
A fresh bowl of fruit

The aroma of a home-cooked meal
Made with grace and love
Warm hugs, teary-eyed smiles

A well-worn Bible
A wooden chest of old clothes
Stories from the past

Photo albums
Family pictures on the mantel
The old Dodge Dart

Memories that are priceless
Memories made at Grandma’s house

–Written by Brenda Hicks



A bowl of fruit can be many things: a simple container filled with fruits to eat, or a metaphor for all the richness of daily life, or even the fullness of gratitude within ones heart. What do you fill your life with? What bowls of fruit are upon your table, and in the reach of those you love? What beauty and richness can you distill into your life today?

Something small, something daily, but something that gives the eye beauty, the smell fragrance, the taste sweetness.





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