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The End of the Summer

This has been a busy and amazing Summer - but I'm ready for Fall. Before welcoming my favorite season, though, I thought I should bid the passing one farewell.


On September 21st, 1937, my favorite work of fiction was published. I love that, as always with Tolkien, every detail was in place, and the book was actually released on the day that the story begins. "By some curious chance one morning long ago in the quiet of the world, when there was less noise and more green..."


As I was leaving work, I couldn't resist a shot of someone's clever guerrilla art - the addition of a long tentacle, creeping out the door of an electrical box. I appreciate when people actually put some thought into it - working with their environment, drawing attention to a preexisting natural or architectural detail, bringing a smile to what would ordinarily be an uninspiring alleyway.


I've seen leaf prints that were a permanent part of a concrete walkway, but this one was merely printed with dust. There's construction nearby, so I assume the path was covered in dirt, the leaf fell, and the rain washed away everything that wasn't protected by the leaf. I found it to be pretty.


A final tribute to Summer, Adam and I went for a walk and blew bubbles - because what says "Summer" and "fun" more so than bubbles do?

And finally, a poem (not by me - I wish I was this good). I couldn't resist - I love this one. :)

The wind was on the withered heath,
but in the forest stirred no leaf:
there shadows lay by night and day,
and dark things silent crept beneath.

The wind came down from mountains cold,
and like a tide it roared and rolled;
the branches groaned, the forest moaned,
and leaves were laid upon the mould.

The wind went on from West to East;
all movement in the forest ceased,
but shrill and harsh across the marsh
its whistling voices were released.

The grasses hissed, their tassels bent,
the reeds were rattling - on it went
o'er shaken pool 'neath heavens cool
where racing clouds were torn and rent.

It passed the lonely mountain bare
and swept above the dragon's lair:
there deep and dark by boulders stark
and flying smoke was in the air.

It left the world and took its flight
o'er the wide seas of the night.
The moon set sail upon the gale
and stars were fanned to leaping light.

- JRR Tolkien -

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