One of the sarcastic and not-to-be-imitated jokes in our family is the phrase “Love Wins,” overused by a few people we know. Sitting on the stairs talking late last night, we mutter at each other Love wins.
What’s the battle anyway? And who are the footsoldiers?
Already passing the solstice, Vermont summer is cacophonious around us: the rhododendrons shed their petals as the iris beside them blaze up in violet splendor. Pulling into the driveway after work yesterday, the 12-year-olds leap on the trampoline, laughing, hair static-splayed.
Summer’s desire – love of summer – rampages. No winner and losers here, the season spreads on, with curling morning glory vines, Budbill’s ubiquitious day lily, robin’s eggs sucked dry by a predator. These dewy, sunny mornings.
is coarse and ordinary, almost harsh in its weathered beauty,
like an older woman with a tough, worldly-wise and wrinkled
David Budbill, The Ubiquitous Day Lily of July