Reluctant August (Oregon)
I sit in certain sadness as I see the summer turning,
As I rest on sand splashed shade where once it was too hot to stand,
And crunch my feet on crisping leaves atop the dry fine powder of the summer path.
The sun is bright as July but for a shorter span,
The river hums and chatters its invitation, but I, not hot and sticky as before, am not drawn in to its keen embrace.
The too-soon sundown designates September’s unsought season,
And with lingering fingers plays a poignant melody across the sundown sand.
My sadness reflects reluctance to move on before my summer suns are done,
I’ve not as yet sung all my summer songs, nor walked out bright in countless sunrises,
Or stood enough before the rising of the summer moon amidst the hum of evening insects.
I’m not quite ready to put an end to sand and rivers and fine silk paths,
But September says, “You must.”
