Tag Archives: August

East Wind

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1

October evening 2

An unexpected change-
a wind from the east
bringing the scent of lake
and sweet grass
and summers ending.

The meadow grasses ripen
golden tassels of seed
sway in the breeze,
bowing to the west
and the hunger
of summers waning
and tiny finches.

August, the month of lengthening shadows
and eastern winds,
the month of fields
golden and heavy with harvest.
August,
the month of summers waning
and all that entails.

Sitting on the porch
as the eastern wind
rings through the old chimes
a new tune,
I find myself singing
in harmony with the changing winds.

(revision)

un-August

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3

June evening 2 2013

The garden has gone feral,
briar and bind weed rise
over violets rampant with deep green hearts-
swords of hardy dandelions
wave in triumph.

Wild with heavy shadow and leaf,
the woods spill
across the wet summer meadow.
Late summer grasses
wave verdant and strong
as young men in springtime.

Hayfields green.
ready for third harvest-
sighs of scythes
echo across the meadow.

summer breeze

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3

Sweet peas

The morning breeze sifts the daylight
from the trees,
bits of shadow and light
cascade in the wind-
floss and golden-
softening the edges of summer.

Wisps of silvered web
spill from the cedar boughs-
night spinning spiders weave
moonlight into morning.

Even so, the stillness belies the rotation
of summer to autumn –
the light gleams across the dappled path
all the way to fall.

East Wind

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2

DSCF1117

An unexpected change-
a wind from the east
bringing the scent of lake
and sweet grass
and summers ending.

The meadow grasses ripen
golden tassels of seed float
and sway in the breeze,
bowing to the west
and the hunger
of summers waning
and tiny finches.

August, the month of lengthening shadows
and eastern winds,
the month of fields
golden and heavy with harvest,
August,
the month of summers waning
and all that entails.

Sitting on the porch
as the eastern wind
rings through the old chimes,
playing a new tune
-I find myself singing
in harmony with the changing winds.

August

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7

fall - flowers2

The heat scours the landscape
and the humidity wraps itself in my hair,
creating damp ringlets against my neck.
The rustle of desiccated leaves,
scratching the dry itch
of the hot southern breeze,
is all that’s left of the garden.
Rooms remain darkened,
shades pulled
against the late afternoon sun,
with only the sound of the ceiling fan
in the drowsy halflight.

It is August
and the summer has been long.

August’s Dust

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26

you seem to be patient with me
and mostly kind
the days linger and hands move slowly
from dawns light tick tocking till dusk
august’s dust never formed
and pulled by tides
or man
the rains fell and washed
all our spring sins away
hands washed clean
rinsed thoroughly with downpours
and tarnished clouds
held still by thunder
or is it your hands held the thunder
and then the rains came
I notice your hands
and the clock face
as it tick tocks to autumn’s storms
patiently
and mostly kind