The August night was warm. We couldn't see the Perseid meteor showers because of the darkness of night (cloud cover), but it was a beautiful evening. Usually, it seems to me, more people are present for the party, which may have had something to do with it being Aug 11-12 instead of the first weekend in August, the traditional weekend and Joya's birthday. But people seemed to be having fun. I don't believe there were any conflicts or arguments. The music played on till dawn, when the tired partygoers, with their costumes long ago peeled away and simpler clothing now on to cool down after all the hot dancing, crept to our house and lined sleepily up for blueberry pancakes and warm maple syrup (Harold Hubbard's-- the best to be found in our mountain hollows).
I had spent part of the night (for the first time) at my friend Margaret Farrington (HH's sister)'s house, where it was unbelievably peaceful and quiet. I fell asleep about 10 and woke at about 2:30, so I decided to go back to the party to see how things were going. All seemed well, and soon the sun rose and lit the phlox and begonias, the daylilies, and other late-summer flowers. Tired dancers sat on the steps in the sunlight and looked over at the mountain -- still green, not a leaf turned red yet.
It is a beautiful summer. It was my sixty-second birthday, August 12, 2012.