“This is the very dead of summer. I am not sure that I ever heard just that phrase before, but I don’t see why not. Surely, it describes at least the impression that August creates as she slumbers, replete and satisfied. Spring was a fever and autumn will be a regret, but this is the month too aware of its own successful achievement to be more than barely sentient. The growth which continues seems without effort, like the accumulation of fat. If Nature is ever purely vegetative, it is now. She is but barely conscious. ”

– Joseph Wood Krutch

From the fabulous flea market find, Kelly and I scored this past sunday…. The Twelve Seasons.

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