Indian Summer Mums

8x10

oil on panel

Indian Summer

These are the days when the 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!

Emily Dickinson