♪It's a little bit funny... this weather outside!♫

I do enjoy music and making lyrics say exactly what I am thinking! However, I am a trifle miffed at this glorious summer like weather because I have a wonderful winter poem that I would like to publish. However, even I can see the inappropriateness of writing about snow when we are all enjoying having  a little more summer. Well, maybe not all... I have never found hot weather to be my cup of tea and would much prefer if the temperature would just hang out around 65. I will just have to grin and bear it, I guess. ☺

So instead of a poem on snow and winter, I will publish a perfectly delightful Emily Dickinson poem on Indian summers. I think we should all be counting our blessings today as we are given a delightful respite before the cold, short days of winter truly come. That reminds me of another song, ♪"When I'm worried and I can't sleep, I count my blessings instead of sheep... and I fall asleep counting my blessings!"♫

What can I say about Emily Dickinson? There is so much to be said, but I don't have the lines to capture her essence. She was the original eccentric dressing mostly in white and, after 1860, became withdrawn from the social scene rarely leaving her home. Most of her friendships were kept up via letter. Unfortunately for us, she left instructions to her sister Lavinia to burn most of her letters upon her death. So much has been lost! But it is in keeping with her private nature. I will cease to say any more about her for fear of hindering instead of helping in understanding of who she was. So without further ado, "Indian Summer" by Emily Dickinson.

INDIAN SUMMER.
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 put on
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 through 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 break,
Taste thine immortal wine!