I found this Emily Dickinson poem yesterday quite by accident, and I'm glad I did - it perfectly captures the magic of an Indian summer, just like the one we're currently experiencing in the south-east. The beauty of a sudden, autumnal heatwave - with its golden leaves, its unexpectedness and rarity - far exceeds that of plain old summer. But Emily put it better than I ever could, back in 1864, in a poem first published as "October"...
THESE are the days when Birds come back--
A very few--a Bird or two--
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies resume
The old--old sophistries of June--
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh fraud that cannot cheat the Bee--
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief.
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear--
And softly thro' the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf.
Oh Sacrament of summer days,
Oh Last Communion in the Haze--
Permit a child to join.
Thy sacred emblems to partake--
Thy consecrated bread to take
And thine immortal wine!
Image courtesy of fabi_k.
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