Can you feel the seasons begin to turn?
I stepped out onto the porch yesterday morning and the air had a clean snap to it, a transparent blue chill that the soft cool haze of summer just lacks.
We've already had a couple of pouring rains; I love lying in the quiet house at night, listening to the drumming of late summer rain on the roof, the rush and gurgle of the gutters draining, the soundless feel of the parched ground soaking up the moisture.
(By late September the joy is gone - the Rains have come to stay and the novelty of a wet evening is spent.)
It's almost time to take in the hammock, to roll the plastic kid pool against the fence.
It's almost time to mulch the garden and cut the remaining roses back hard.
It's almost the End of Summer.An agitation of the air,
A perturbation of the light
Admonished me the unloved year
Would turn on its hinge that night.
I stood in the disenchanted field
Amid the stubble and the stones
Amaded, while a small worm lisped to me
The song of my marrow-bones.
Blue poured into summer blue,
A hawk broke from his cloudless tower,
The roof of the silo blazed, and I knew
That part of my life was forever over.
Already the iron door of the North
Clangs open: birds,leaves,snows
Order their populations forth,
And a cruel wind blows.