God,
how I love late summer.
That moment
before the heat finally breaks,
the cool air of night
beckons the harvest,
and the bounty of the field
starts to show.
Frenetic times are faded.
The summer’s luster’s lost
it’s shine,
but the days still blaze,
even as the nights
get longer.
You and I come to our own.
No longer beaten by the heat,
but mellowed,
like a piece of ice
brings out the flavor
in the whiskey.
Shake off our frantic skins.
The deeds are done
and for this brief
moment of repose,
we watch the procession
of Sun,
and Moon,
and stars,
and gifts from the Heliosphere.
Dawn and dusk
bleed together,
just like we have mingled
our blood,
and our tears,
and our frustrations
into the warm miasma of August.
We settle,
like a September breeze,
speaking of plans,
only weeks away,
but for now,
we’re gonna coast through.
You hold my hand
and we sit close,
watching the Sun go down.
In this hard,
unforgiving land,
there are seasons.
We become accustomed
to the bright sun
and warm days,
the heat and the adulation
of the growing season,
but we know
that change
is just around the bend.
The new start.
The harvest.
The death of the year.
Change will come
and we are ready.
I am ready to share it
with you.
Here,
in this moment
of quiet twilight.
In the heart
of late summer.
HG – 2022
