Summer was wealthy with a daze of suntraps, writes Aidan Carl Mathews.
So great a sweetness flows into the breast, writes William Butler Yeats.
There is the creative joy, an acceptance of what life brings, because we have understood the beauty of what it brings, or a hatred of death for what it takes away… Sunspots and watery moats alight briefly. Most turn to fade should attention veer. There isn’t an audience I could accrue at the edges of this ecstasy. Only me and the spark, the flame in my soul.