The Carpet of Summer

Summer in my country has a sun and a sky and a reflection of blue in the sea, and it has the gauzy veils of the evening mist.

In every spot it has a "welcome," and in every quarter a "be at ease." And in our villages and our mountains it enjoys a special affection.

In the morning a sparrow alights on the grape arbor and pecks the berries till they weep, and drinks their tears. And after his drunkenness he sings the morning anthem:

"The vineyard has wakened, the basket is ready, and the road awaits the fall of your feet upon it..."

After the return from the vineyard, the "morning sitting" is sweet at the feet of tall young pines. The mountain chill of the morning is driven off by woolen sweaters and hot coffee. And coffee has another use besides: who among us would not like to know tomorrow and the hidden things of tomorrow!! Who can promise us the date of the awaited letter's arrival, the coming of guests, the invitation to a feast "unawares," and the prince of the future — who but the cup-reader?!!...

And as if the pure mountain air were not enough for the summer folk while they sit in their houses, they go looking for novelty of scene and of pastime. At the water, greenery and comely faces gather, putting into practice the principle:

"In the open country is freedom, ease, and innocence of heart,
and the village life — how often have sultans wished for it!"

Many are those who have been denied the blessing of summering and its appurtenances of refreshing air and restful idleness. These are the university students, racing to shorten the university course by summer study, and no heat deters them. When it bears down too hard upon them they put it out in the nearby sea, or they dodge it as best they can, cutting the road short and walking among the flowers to save a few steps in the blaze of the scorching sun.

And there is another kind of school in summer, where there is no worry over preparing lessons, and where there is neither heat nor swelter. These are the camps. In camp there are coins and there are critics — as is the case in life as a whole. There, nature is kept company at first hand, and modern civilization is turned to profit. And there is a delight in learning there; it comes without any feeling of fatigue, for the camp lives what it learns.

At sunset a day ends and tomorrow becomes an embryo. Little of the sun is left, and only a hand's breadth is left of summer; when we come to its end, the earth turns back to lay the foundation of a new summer. So who among us — and the earth follows us in this — can do without summer: the season of harvest, of plenty, and of ripening!!?...