Birds hop bravely, territorially
Albeit cautiously, in their patchy plummage.
Butterflies however, flutter and flit with abandon
Perfectly suited for this moment of late summer
Where Honeysuckle, Crosimia & hibiscus bloom
And Fat bees plump up on the marjoram flowers.
As the heat rises and shimmers
All sound diminishes.
I am mute
Nothing more to offer
Burnt up, scorched by the very thing that brought life
The golden juice evaporated from veins.
In the absence of rain.
This time of year always finds me, or maybe leaves me, as this dried up husk
In the metaphoric duldrums
A windless listless place
No wind in my sails
A death defying moment of pause
At the opposite apex to the pregnant pause of 6 months ago.
Here, now, the light is in decline
Whilst the temperature still rises
And I am caught with No direction No impetus
in the simultaneous rise and fall.
The apples are ripening early
And the leaves of the plum already turning
curl in on themselves, ready for the fall
This cycle draws to a close
The years growth ready to return to the earth.