Letters from Home

The End of Summer

August retreats.
It hands us back the year.

Summer isn’t truth, but it is
(as Harris Telemacher recites)
“What we wish were true.”

So many of us
Shove out this
Season of perspiration, lazily
Forgetting how it
Slows us
Beguiles us
Presses us to hold still
Find the windy spaces
With a friend
In the lustre of the
Earth as it
Rots away
Happily. On comes the
Harvest and the rush of
Putting it all away.

Yet one more hour won’t you
Come and sit with me
In the shade before it
Cools. Time is
Hot berries
Unwilling
Yet ready to burst.

Hey, be sure to come back tomorrow for the beginning of the “Big Question” series, asking “What does America Want?” — a series of post, ponderings, guest podcasts, and thoughts on one Big Question, in the month of September. See you…

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