A cloud on a hot July day
gives the illusion of coolness in its shadow
but it never drops rain
or the temperature
or even a breeze to evaporate the sweat
as it trickles.
Across the brittle landscape, rabbits pant in the heat
as the asphalt rises in the yeast of the sun
to bloom sticky and black.
Writhing along the road, dust devils
stir up depressions where the small brown sparrows bathe.
and the song of heat swells
in the throats of cicadas. Or is it wings
or appendages that rasp the tune?
Shimmering pale blue water rises
on the road. The heats playing oasis
in this desert of an afternoon. A mirage,
an illusion, a forfeiture of the senses,
summers sleight of hand. A cloud
on a hot July day.
The sharp retort of the jays cries
strike the air,
his grief too much for the cedars to bear.
What greater woe is there
than summers ebb?
Yellowing leaves, spent and melancholy,
as though weeping,
for their passing will soon be forgotten
in winters bare and spare air.
The elegies of wing and wind-
the sighing trees sorrow
in the mourning doves song
of summers passing.
The scent of sun is in your hair
with the salt smell from the waves
crashing onto the shore.
Waters sparkles in sunglints
and bursts into flame in the clear blue
sky of your eyes.
Heat rises with the day
light and sun glow on your skin.
Above us, the gulls call to the sea
and the wild sound of surf pounds
in my breast.
Startled, I wake from a dream of the ocean
to cries of gulls wheeling in the icy air
and the chill of winter in your eyes.
The light has lost its harsh intensity.
Earth’s tilt has nudged the sun
into an angle
and more autumn.
Setting the changing leaves
into a different hue
perfect for the falls rubies
Walking the gravel path
on this last summers evening,
we talk in low voices
so as not to disturb the flowers
and the butterflies, busy
with their own seasons changes.
I am anxious to shed this summer-
its days long
and its light, too intrusive.
Autumn will cool my brow
and give my weary eyes rest
until I can sleep in winters
long dark night.
cool morning breeze
plays a quiet tune thru the windchimes
Sunday morning hymn
shouting from cedar top to cedar top
first golden leaves
gently fall to the ground
Sunday morning offertory
golden and heavy with seed
bowing in the morning breeze
Prayers of thanksgiving
late summer drought
brings the first color of autumn
sassafras leaves & sheaves of sumac