Mid - August Sadness

Grasshopper (Sprinkhaan) 1918
Anna Julia "Julie" de Graag (1877–1924)
Rijksmuseum, Amsterdam

A phase of August sadness -- what Emily Dickinson calls "further in summer" -- is now upon us: too late to say midsummer, too early to say late summer. Birdsong has given way to insect chorus, and beneath our feet, somewhere in the grass, an entire, nearly invisible civilization is celebrating the seasonal change. The crickets have their own ceremonial customs and canticles, unobtrusive, gradual, gentle. No obstrusive ordinances required, only the ancient -- or as Dickinson puts it, "antiquest" -- enhancement of Nature.

But what about that "Enlarging Loneliness"? Surely the lament of summer's impending end is experienced not only (if at all) by the insects; but more likely as a pathetic fallacy within our human hearts. Our existential sadness is mitigated only by "Druidic Difference," a sense that our ancient globe is rounding toward autumn, inevitably as ever.

Indeed, in another week or so,
August will be "burning low":

Further in Summer than the Birds –
Pathetic from the Grass –
A minor Nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive Mass.

No Ordinance be seen –
So gradual the Grace
A gentle Custom it becomes –
Enlarging Loneliness –

Antiquest felt at Noon –
When August burning low
this spectral Canticle
Repose to typify –

Remit as yet no Grace –
No furrow on the Glow,
But a Druidic Difference
Enhances Nature now –

Artist: Janie Olsen

Again, assisted by insects -- flies & bees --
Dickinson captures our autumnal anguish:

If you were coming in the Fall
I'd brush the Summer by
With half a smile, and half a spurn
As Housewives do, a Fly

If I could see you in a year
I'd wind the months in balls
And put them each in separate Drawers
For fear the numbers fuse

If only Centuries, delayed
I'd count them on my hand
Subtracting, til my fingers dropped
Into Van Dieman's Land

If certain, when this life was out
That yours and mine, should be
I'd toss it yonder, like a Rind
And take Eternity

But, now, uncertain of the length
Of this, that is between
It goads me, like the Goblin Bee
That will not state its sting

~Both poems by Emily Dickinson (KL ~ FN ~ QK)

Artist: Katrina Sesum

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