The last days of August

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Without so much as a warning,
the heavy, humid northeastern weather
becomes a memory’s whisper.

My neighbor sits on his porch
and I bet
the relief of a cool morning
doesn’t seem to be
the harbinger of winter frost
that it is,

and as the day moves on to afternoon
and the sun warms up a clear sky,
the green leaves and I
cling to what is left of summer
for dear life.

©A. D. Joyce, 2015

7 thoughts on “The last days of August”

  3. I, too, would cling to it if I let myself accept the ending, but now that I am retired and no longer tied to school schedules, I float and dance (figuratively) and summer is only just begun! But I remember what you have captured here so vividly.

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