Summer’s warmth presses upon Pennsylvania…

Her heavy hands
grasping for straws in her desperation to persist,

Her sun soaked lips
still weighing us down with breaths of humidity,

Are an easing into her uncomfortably, matronly palms
and the final sorrowing of a woman on the brink of “goodbye”…



The sky revolts against Summer’s refusing…

Her seasonal shifting
fighting back by growing darker, preemptively

Her shadows
cast on trees earlier enough to be noticed,

Are the silhouette of Fall
and a means of remembering why “time hurries on” in that
-Simon & Garfunkle “The leaves that are green turn to brown” manner-…

Autumn’s bold drapery
Atop the -piled high just to die- leaves
Leaves breathtaking impressions on the tips of tongues
As we watch their Phoenix like departure