Summer assembles
High upon the planet,
Swirls down
North wind, rain
In mustard fields,
Bushtits, privets,
Spiders, iris spears.
An idea in nature nears
In illusion left to
To cycles stored
In summer seeds.
Lizards patrol trails.
Ponds recede.
No weather at all.
Apologies wait
Until Fall.
Hi Geo~
ReplyDeleteI meant to comment earlier, but I guess I'm caught between hibernation and estivation, and I don't know what the name of the nation I'm in now is. Do you? Lovely poem, and with one of my favorite words that an old friend from 1970s days in Santa Cruz who worked in the bookstore there liked to use, as applying to his life at the time--he was in his later fifties--and also what he thought of as the stage S.C. at that time was permanently stuck in. Poem made me remember and reflect on all that as well. Will
Dear old friend,
ReplyDeleteFirst sentence of your comment composes a better poem than any I've written. Never have liked summers much and always try to sleep thru them, but one has to work and keep others from worrying, that sort of thing. I think we will never be civilized until we end summer sports, perhaps all sports. People who get excited about summer and activity are truely frightening. That is why I like S.C. (Santa Cruz, Caliphobia to the rest of the world). Your friend was right, and estivation is a term of endearment.
Geo.