The corn is in the fields
the sun is high
a cool breeze is moving
the cicadas are whirring
birds are chatting between branches
a yellow crop duster buzzes overhead
I am sitting outside in my chair
thinking about how soon autumn will come
and I will have to remember where exactly
I packed away my flannels and my jeans.
This week’s poem is a little low-key, but a nice thing about doing a year-long project is that having a few seasonal, environmental poems sprinkled throughout feels right.
Upon reviewing the poem, one thing that strikes me is that it is interesting how the feeling of a particular moment in the year is affected by the prospect of the coming season. Even though the start of August is by no means the end of summer, there is something bittersweet about it.