The year has turned
to the round month,
the orange one,
month of steam and droning bees,
time when we first remember
the end is tumbling near.
Green and yellow hang in the air
and we bask in the sun’s fullness
like sweet, plump raisins
curving toward a scarcer heat,
the crust of summer
sun-buttered and baked to a crisp sheen.
Some mornings, mist hangs so heavy
a solitary heron blends with the water’s edge,
This afternoon, thunder strikes a pose,
proves itself rain’s herald
and swallows the sun. Rain pours heavy
along the river. Later, in the opening air,
thick with humidity and a soft
leaves drip with relief and a deeper green
moves from the centre of things
to hover at the edge
of the trees’ dark spaces. Silence
moves aside for the first bird.
“August Rain” first published in Economies of Gratitude by Ellen Symons. Penumbra Press 2007
2 thoughts on “August Rain”
Beautiful, speak of the writer. I see the enduro of summer as it meets the Fall. I see the soft and tranquile end of an age, entering observant the not so youthful middle age, when death IS closer than birth.
So beautiful. I love your beautiful words.