Lughnasa Waning Harvest Moon
It appears life as a Vikings fan will continue as a pilgrimage through a wasteland of frustration and dashed hopes. In the first game of the season, at Cleveland, 4-12 or something like that last year, this supposedly Super-Bowl ready team is behind 13-10. Behind. Aaarrrrgggghhh. Each pilgrimage must perforce visit the slough of despond before rising to the heights of the heavenly city (Miami this year) so we’re there early.
On a different note. After getting groceries this morning, I picked grapes. Kate makes a wonderful grape jelly from our wild grapes. They grow all over the woods, but have chosen the six foot fence for a nice run. As I had my small shears out, cutting the purple bunches from the vine, the Rosetti painting, the Girlhood of Mary Virgin came to mind. In the background Mary’s father, Joachim, tends to a grapevine.
The harvest is a good time of year and I enjoy the wild harvest as well the domestic one. This is hunter gatherer behavior, imprinted on us for millennia. It satisfies a deep need.
