The Sacrament of Summer Days

Kids are back in school. Labor Day is almost here. Sometimes there’s a hint of coolness in the early morning, though by noon it feels like the sun will bake us until the afternoon thunderstorm comes. What’s left of the National Weather Service dangles the warning of hurricanes churning in the Atlantic. You can even find a hint of autumn color if you know where to look for it; though it’s a weak imitation of what you find up North. Even in Florida, we know that autumn is on the way.

These are the days when I am drawn back to Emily Dickinson. She captured the coming of the New England autumn and turns the final days of summer into a sacrament.

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!

Wherever you are (whether you are a poetry lover or not), perhaps her lines can encourage us to take advantage of the changing seasons and turn each day into a sacrament — an outward and visible sign of an inward and spiritual grace.

Enjoy that closing days of summer!

Grace and peace,

Jim