Late Summer Senses

Today was one of those hot, humid but breezy August days. These thoughts came to my mind as I see Summer coming to an end.

Gossamer mountains, there in the distance;
barely able to make out their shape and whether covered with the low hanging clouds~
or do they simply disappear between nothingness and sky?
The color drains from once-vibrant trees. Ah, late August.
All of September we will watch as one after another,
the leaves turn the corner to their end of life.
A little brown dog pounces on hopping prey.
Crickets and grasshoppers seldom escape his watchful eye and deft movements.
I'm sorry for the insect when he lingers between agility and the ability to stand any longer.
There he's left to die a slow death while the hunter moves on to livelier game.
         Such are the end-of-summer sights.

The familiar voices are gone.
Once echoing, gleeful cries of children and the sharp bark of small dogs;
they had covered the hill in past months.
At evening the quiet talk around a campfire,
slowly hushed as one by one we would leave to take our sleep.
Back and forth goes the lonely porch swing now;
my feet 'pumping' in time while a gentle and regular
squeak of the chain drones overhead.
No longer is heard the hiss of the locust
but steady breezes whisper across the treetops
       ~the sounds of summer's end.

This day is heavy with dew that presses against my skin
and squeezes as one would a sponge.
Likely it will be one of the last of its kind.
We'll welcome the drier and cooler period
when we feel the soft fingers of
       the touch of late summer.

I reach into the tomato patch to pluck little red balls of goodness.
The leaves brush across my arms and the bitter-sweet odor rises;
      the summer garden scents, soon to be put to sleep.

-Cyndy Veysey