Parents and their young going to the river
In the morning and home in the evening.
The dog days, serious Sirius, hot;
Hard to believe cool is coming,
But we all know it is.
Gradually the geese go south and
Egrets bring their young along the creek
Out to the river.
Breakfast is now before dawn
And the great white birds glow
In the dark. Amazing.
Storms and rain and wind
Yet Impatiens bloom, even
The sun turns that golden color
That Joni Mitchell sings about:
“The sun poured down like butterscotch
and stuck to all my senses.”
Hawks circle on the thermals
And mosquitoes torment man and beast.
Children go back to school and the
Squash-gold school busses clog the streets.
By month’s end, we can think about harvest
And the State Fair. “Next year,”
I always say, “I’m going to enter,”
This or that competition, but I never do.
A pleasant spurt of ambition, quickly quelled.