Summer: Poems and Paintings
SUMMER: Poems and Paintings
Coming to the shop on Friday, July 1st at 10am cst
I’ve been reading a lot of poetry lately: When a new season arrives, I love reading poems that draw out the beauty in the changing landscape.
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When I think of summer, I think of warm nights listening to a symphony of cicadas and crickets and watching lightning bugs light up the sky in little bursts. I think of dipping my toes in the cool water of the lake and spending an entire afternoon reading in the shade of an oak tree. Summer is slow. It’s a time to rest and enjoy the beautiful world God has given to us in His goodness.
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I found so many poems that capture the essence of Summer in all its glory, and I hope you’ll enjoy every one.
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This little book contains poems celebrating this season of rest, as well as a collection of my summer paintings. It’s a pocket-size hardcover book, in full color. And if you’re wondering – yes, I’ll be making one for each season! I have already released Winter and Spring; they can be purchased here.
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Summer will be available for purchase in the shop on Friday, July 1st at 10am CST.
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Here is one of my favorite poems from Spring: Poems and Paintings
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Summer
by George MacDonald
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Summer, sweet Summer, many-fingered Summer!
We hold thee very dear, as well we may:
It is the kernel of the year to-day—
All hail to thee! thou art a welcome comer!
If every insect were a fairy drummer,
And I a fifer that could deftly play,
We’d give the old Earth such a roundelay
That she would cast all thought of labour from her.—
Ah! what is this upon my window-pane?
Some sulky, drooping cloud comes pouting up,
Stamping its glittering feet along the plain!—
Well, I will let that idle fancy drop!
Oh, how the spouts are bubbling with the rain!
And all the earth shines like a silver cup!
We hold thee very dear, as well we may:
It is the kernel of the year to-day—
All hail to thee! thou art a welcome comer!
If every insect were a fairy drummer,
And I a fifer that could deftly play,
We’d give the old Earth such a roundelay
That she would cast all thought of labour from her.—
Ah! what is this upon my window-pane?
Some sulky, drooping cloud comes pouting up,
Stamping its glittering feet along the plain!—
Well, I will let that idle fancy drop!
Oh, how the spouts are bubbling with the rain!
And all the earth shines like a silver cup!
