Wishing for Summer's End

Remnants of the Day

Summer Wildflowers | Photo by author

As summer begins its end,
thunderstorms strike unexpectedly, morning and night.
Wishing for relief, the heavens scoff at my request,
delivering instead air so thick there is no room for my breath.
 
Standing on the porch, in the shade of the magnolia,
sips of ice-cold raspberry lemonade neither 
quench my thirst nor distract me from 
the horrendous heat and humidity.
Energy stores for nothing more than standing motionless and
noticing the remnants of the summer day.
 
I capture the sight of the baby squirrel called Harriet,
splooting flat on the shady path munching on stolen sunflower seeds.
Too hot even for her to startle and scurry, 
trusting that I am slow and
she is safe on this steamy day.
 
The experimental vegetable garden is a disastrous sight to see
with maturing prickly leaves of cucumber vines commingling with zucchini, summer squash, and a rogue tomatoless volunteer.
The makeshift chicken wire fence does nothing to deter
the deer, raccoons, and other sly creatures from their late-night snacks, 
leaving nothing for me.
 
School will start soon.
The nightly cicada chorus signals it’s just six weeks away.
Autumn coolness a distant, dreamy sight.
 
Maybe in the morning haze, just as the sun begins to rise,
I’ll force myself out to the wildflower garden and
pick a few petals to hide between the pages of my pocket flower press,
capturing a bit of summer goodness 
before it shrivels into dry, colorless remains
 
I’ll hide the book among my trinkets and treasures, 
remembering it again when snowflakes sparkle beyond my windowsill.
By then I’ll be ready to savor their delicate beauty
and begin to wish for summer gardens and humidity once again.

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With loving wishes for summer heat relief,

Amy