leaf

These are the days
of searing sidewalks, sharp shadows,
and pop-up rainstorms
that leave the garden drooping,
dripping,
steaming.
These are the days of sweltering heat
tiptoeing timidly toward 100º,
days when I carry an insulated bag
filled with cold packs to cool off
as I wait for my grandson
in the mid-afternoon pick-up line at school.
These are the days when I wonder
how the birds cope,
why they don’t crumple to a crisp.
How do they sing so fresh and clear
in the heat of a breezeless afternoon?
These are the days when I remember
that the sun is a ball of fire
giving life to the earth
even though it’s on the edge of
boiling us for dinner.
These are also the days
when one leaf falls here,
another drifts down there,
autumn’s tiny ads for upcoming events.
One leaf on the crape myrtle turns orange,
standing out among the green,
seed pods ripen,
the Virginia creeper begins to blush.
But it’s not autumn yet,
not for a few weeks more.
With a hot, gusty sigh,
summer admits she’s dragging her feet,
dozy, droopy,
drained of energy
but not ready to relinquish her reign.
So I’ll keep the fans out
and the ice packs handy,
for these are the high, hot, heady days
of summer.
-kh-