August, the Sunday of the summer months.
Suspending the start of autumn, an air of distracted denial in these late summer days.
Our activities hum
similarly round in their tune.
Bring in the fruits for winter’s cellar and holiday cheer.
Relearn tying shoes and making lunch.
End earlier to rise earlier
Summer’s growth spurt in hand-me-downs to the delight of youngers
Beat the rugs, weed the garden, inhale the sun
Latecomer hydrangea, frilled and elegant
unapologetic in size, boldly confident this summer has no end
I pull on the salmon shorts those
embroidered with navy lobsters (the only lobsters I’ve had this season)
button a favorite lightweight chambray shirt
the footbed leather always cool to my soles
as the dog writhes and wiggles her welcome and
release out the back door.
It is, thankfully, summer, still.
Written August 30, 2014.