I move the calendar page to the next in line..
“September” it says, meaning summer is over.
The sky is still blue and the clouds white and puffy.
But the Irises are just a bunch of green swords
Topped with only the memory of a flower.


I am just beginning to notice that a few leaves
Are starting to look tired.
Not as vibrant as they were in June or July.
There must be a calendar hiding in the tree.
And today it said “September”.


I must let go of the sweet hot rains.
Watch the roses melt off the bush.
Fewer and fewer petals show on these late blooms.
They need to rest and meditate under the coming storms.
Even the lushly growing weeds have lost their enthusiasm.


The sunsets will be more aggressive now.
The sunrise won’t be as important.
The days will shorten and the nights will be
As long as the poignant thoughts of the seagulls
Who flew over the lace edged waves.


I will watch the weather from inside the window.
Instead of sitting on the porch steps
Looking for the lightning bolts piercing the clouds.
Waiting for the first warm drops of rain
To fall on my shoulders.


Now I can watch the leaves fly past me
When the wind scours the trees.
And then I can wait for the first snowflake
To make me feel the passing of time.
But for now…..The grass is still green.





© By Swampetta (SWAMPETTA@aol.com)



 


 



Watch these pages for other pieces by Swampetta.
In the meantime, click the links below for
poems and stories by our other authors.


The Invaded Child

A Day's Work

Awake, Awake, America

First Leaf Fall

Chapter 2: Frannie Sue and Crowder Peas

Apples (9 Authors)

Hello October

Roses




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