Summer’s end–a poem celebrating the last days of summer

A poem honoring summer’s end

As I’ve gone on my daily walks this past week or so, I can feel summer’s end approaching even though it’s still in the 90’s pretty much every day here. The air, the light, the plants all seem different.

I feel very grateful to Poetry Friday for giving me the incentive and support for writing poetry every week. I invite you to join this awesome community. This week, our host is Molly at Nix the Comfort Zone. Check out her post about stealing like an artist and the milky way–and see what other poets are up to. 

I’m off to visit my parents tomorrow. Both my brothers will be there, as well as one of my daughters. It’s been years since we’ve all been together, and I’m really looking forward to seeing everyone.

Even though I’m tired of the heat, I feel a little melancholy about the passing of another summer. I do love these days that float on almost forever. And I miss the birds singing,too. I wrote about the birds on my walks a few weeks ago. Now I hardly hear or see them.

Summer’s end approaches

 

The geese have flown from the pond.

I hear them like distant car horns overhead,

They know it’s time to go

Although summer’s heat lingers.

 

In early spring, the first flowers bloomed yellow.

Though entire rainbows have grown since then,

Most are yellow again—

Dandelions, flowers whose names I don’t yet know,

And more and more sunflowers every day

Opening to worship the waning sun,

Anchoring light to the earth.

 

The sweet-smelling pink milkweed flowers are almost gone

Replaced by pods still green and bright

Thistle seeds stick in still-blooming flowers

while the cactuses grow improbably green

among the browning of it all.

 

The grasses have turned to gold

And gone to seed.

The wind rustles through them and

through the trees,

Sounding different, dryer, louder.

 

The mountains in the back range still have snow,

but not so much. Will it all melt before the new snow falls?

 

On the path, a bull snake

Catches the warm morning sun.

On the sidewalk, two-striped grasshoppers fly from my oncoming feet,

While the busy ants continue with their busyness.

There are so many that I’m sure for at least a few,

the last thing they sense before being flattened

Is the shadow of my foot over them.

 

The world becomes quieter,

Preparing for winter’s rest

Yet it’s still August,

Languid, fiery, filled with light.

 

But the geese have left the pond.

Thanks for stopping by

Is your summer coming to an end? What do you notice? How do you feel?

I wish you all the best.

xoxo