A psalm of summer

It's a day full of birdsong and bloomings,when heat has at last settled in,reaching the extremities—some collective, remembered fear of heat lingers—the locusts are silenced by a low-flying helicopter, briefly.

I'm sweeping the studio floorand some poetry in this act turns me hometo the written word:that is—how this is the time of yearwhen small ephemeral spidersscurry away from the broomon translucent legs with invisible pinpoint bodies,belying their presence by motion only and sunlight reflected.To me they are the unexpectedness,the apparent transience and swift slipping away of summer.Is it here now? In respect, I put aside the broom,deserting small gatherings of dirt and powdered clayand settling dust, to reflect in words.

Goldie and Sam
August 21, 2000

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