late summer - quotes and descriptions to inspire creative writing

The beetle was the sort of red cherries are in the late summer, so bright and deep all at once. There it was doing all sorts of things nature needed it to do, those quiet things we never think of, but upon which creation depends. They are little miracles, these insects, they are. I watch it come to the tip of its grassy wand and fly into the heady air. Perhaps all we need is love for this sort of beetle, instead of taking them for granted or buying the sort of toxins that kill them. They are the "Monsters Inc" butterflies and I find them so very beautiful.

Into the bowl go the fruits of the garden as little Carissa tiptoes through the plants. The splash of red berries is so vibrant upon the green ceramic and her hands spread over the clay ripples as perfect starfish upon summer rocks.

We sat there in late summer, the grass moving in steady waves, those long heads of golden seed as calming as harbour waves. There was something about it, their movement synchronized yet independent, their hues so close yet unique. And while they danced in that way, came the song of crickets and the chirps of birds content to be warmed by gentle rays. I recall thinking of the days we had been so blessed to have and feeling the inner joy of anticipating the autumn colours. I love the reds and golds as much as anyone, yet the rich browns have a homely feel, something of the earth. I let my mind wonder when those changes will come, perhaps as early as next month or the one after. Then every day those changes bring an inner smile in rain and shine. After a while I glanced toward Monica, "Hey, how about a tall drink of something refreshing?"

It was the time for surfing, for feeling that inner spirit rise with the waves, riding so freely upon their crest. We could feel our bodies in synchrony with our minds, in that way we think with no words. It's when we just do it, just get up there and be. There's a joy in it, feeling waves of serenity as steady as the ocean. It's being there in the sunlight, existing in each sweet moment as if it were just one, the past falling away with a gentle acceptance of the future we create.

In late summer the Earth is ready for the rains, for sweet drops to quench the soils. It is then that the pitter patter returns to the woodlands, simple water to bring nature's magic. The pathways strengthen from a dusty brown to deep mahogany, reviving a healthy glow I've longed to see return. Summer foliage has it's time, the green canopy to give shelter when it's needed, yet this is beauty also, the heaven-given promise seasonal changes fulfilled.