Guess Who's Going to Star Island?

Me!  Get to go out for a couple of nights to help close up the shops.  And I saw my fat friend Toadsy this morning, too--a very good omen.  He's been a constant presence in the backyard since spring.  He's very big, and very active.  I swear if I've had enough wine, he looks like a small rabbit when I catch sight of him hopping along the perimeter from a distance.  So--what do a toad and the Isles of Shoals have in common?  Celia Thaxter, of course.  In the photo above, he's stalking a slug near his cement likeness.  About toads, Thaxter writes:

The toad has indeed no superior as a destroyer of noxious insects, and he possesses no bad habits and is entirely inoffensive himself, every owner of a garden should treat him with utmost hospitality.

I certainly do my best to be hospitable.

And there's that slug.  Thaxter writes:  

It seems to me the worst of all the plagues is the slug, the snail without a shell. He is beyond description repulsive, a mass of sooty, shapeless slime, and he devours everything.

Agreed.

Hours later, when I walked by the spot where I'd seen him earlier, he was nearly buried in a little hole in the dirt.  I hope he takes refuge here and emerges next spring, as Thaxter describes:

Early in April, as I was vigorously hoeing in a corner, I unearthed a huge toad, to my perfect delight and satisfaction; he had lived all winter, he had doubtless fed on slugs all the autumn. I could have kissed him on the spot.

Still Life with Hummingbird.

Esther saw something glinting green in the grass, and found this beautiful creature that just days ago buzzed and flitted and delighted.  It's fall. I'm sad.

 "Good-night, sweet prince; And flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." (Hamlet)

Come, gentle night, come, loving, black-brow'd night,
Give me my Romeo; and, when he shall die,
Take him and cut him out in little stars,
And he will make the face of heaven so fine
That all the world will be in love with night
And pay no worship to the garish sun.  (Romeo & Juliet)

My mood, as summer ends, makes me think of Celia Thaxter off the island.

My heart remains grateful, but autumn's arrival makes me feel ...


Land-Locked


Black lie the hills; swiftly doth daylight flee;
And, catching gleams of sunset's dying smile,
Through the dusk land for many a changing mile
The river runneth softly to the sea.

O happy river, could I follow thee!
O yearning heart, that never can be still!
O wistful eyes, that watch the steadfast hill,
Longing for level line of solemn sea!

Have patience; here are flowers and songs of birds,
Beauty and fragrance, wealth of sound and sight,
All summer's glory thine from morn till night,
And life too full of joy for uttered words.

Neither am I ungrateful; but I dream
Deliciously how twilight falls to-night
Over the glimmering water, how the light
Dies blissfully away, until I seem

To feel the wind, sea-scented, on my cheek,
To catch the sound of dusky flapping sail
And dip of oars, and voices on the gale
Afar off, calling low, -- my name they speak!

O Earth! Thy summer song of joy may soar
Ringing to heaven in triumph. I but crave
The sad, caressing murmur of the wave
That breaks in tender music on the shore.