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

Empty

Nothing more to offer

Withered

Dry

Done

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 

Stuck

Adrift

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.