Last Day of Summer
It seems too late to be summer.
Pools are closed, but not yet covered.
Leaves slowly accumulate on the surface, drifting to the bottom.
The day can’t decide if it’s warm or cool,
Even the sky seems unsure, not quiet sunny, but not yet dreary.
A portent of the coming cold, a foreshadowing.
Tomorrow there will be equal light and darkness,
Giving way to nights longer than days until Spring.
On the cusp of something,
Seasons changing; temperatures idling, not quite dropping.
Green turns brown, yellow, red and orange — subtly.
Just around the corner, not sure when,
A day will dawn with sudden crispness —
Brilliant, azure sky containing high, wispy clouds;
The reds, oranges, and yellows now richer, bolder,
Combining to intoxicate the senses.
And summer will suddenly be forgotten and unmissed,
Until the long, cold darkness sets in,
And we long once more for Summer.