They weren’t there yesterday.
Today they are full in bloom,
gold, umber, we’ve never
had five before, all
the same color.
The summer burns hot
and fast, too little snow
last winter, too little
rain this spring. The wind
is always here, it seems.
The insects bounce against
the house, brrr and zzss,
snap and flurr, random
things they seem, but
nothing is, I think.
Now whatever time is
left, much like this
summer, burns hot
and fast, but I’m aware
of what is happening now.
It is all tempered by impermanence,
endings and beginnings
we can never detect,
driven by our sense of
forever, unlimited appetite.
Whine of flies, the thump
of pine cones dropped.
The wind in waves, the drying
sage, bends the clouds, moves
the sky through dying trees.
(Colorado Life Magazine, May/June 2013)
