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”
I am having the same feelings, Adriene. Clinging to the summer…fearful of the winter 🙂 Beautifully expressed here.
Thanks for visiting, Kate. 🙂
I love this poem, especially the last lines. Well done, Adriene!
Thanks, Diane ❤
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.
That’s awesome that you are enjoying your retirement. God bless and thanks. ❤
Very vivid image for an awesome piece. Great work.