An Indian Summer is a time when between October and early November, temperatures rise and the garden is bathed in sun and caressed in warm autumn breezes. At times temperatures can be just like in summer and here in southern California bulbs get tricked into thinking that it's time to bloom again.
These are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June, --
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Induces my belief,
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!
Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,
Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!
Edited by two of her friends:
MABEL LOOMIS TODD & T.W. HIGGINSON
by Emily Dickinson
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