It's hot here, as is so much of the Eastern US just now.  The seasonal change has come in due course, building up to this rather early burst of heat.  I've had some time to adjust to the dwindling of Spring and the advance of Summer but, as always, the shift seems to come so quickly.  Some of that has to do with the tempo of human events that shape my life: the end of the academic year, graduation, the passing of my daughter's school year.   Those moments define the natural change for me as much as the temperature.  But Nature (Way) still has its way, pushing, as it has done this week, its heat and storms to the forefront, letting us know that we do not really control or manage the change of seasons.

     So, I went looking for a poem to capture the summer heat.  My volume of selections from Li Po (Li Bai) has more spring and autumn verses than summer stanzas.  But I found some that get at change in general.

Facing Wine

Never refuse wine.  I'm telling you,
people come smiling in spring winds:

peach and plum like old friends, their
open blossoms scattering toward me,

singing orioles in jade-green trees,
and moonlight probing gold winejars.

Yesterday we were flush with youth,
and today, white hair's an onslaught.

Bramble's overgrown Shih-hu Temple,
and deer roam Ku-su Terrace ruins:

it's always been like this, yellow dust
choking even imperial gates closed

in the end.  If you don't drink wine,
where are those ancient people now?

     And how could I not read Li Po on Chuang Tzu:

Ancient Song

Chuang-tzu dreams he's a butterfly,
and a butterfly become Chuang-tzu.

All transformation this one body,
boundless occurrence goes on and on:

it's no surprise eastern seas become
western streams shallow and clear,

or the melon-grower at Ch'ing Gate
once reigned as Duke of Tung-ling.

Are hopes and dreams any different?
We bustle around, looking for what?

      There's a line that gets at the onrush of summer: "boundless occurrence goes on and on."  That's what's happening in my backyard.