Crickets that chirp all day and all night
Looking for love in their season
Fields of goldenrod that stretch in all directions
The way they did when we were children
Earlier sunsets we notice at mid-month
That make us wonder where the summer went
Cool mornings with fog that burns off
And still air, infused with familiar scents
Bats that come from behind the shutters
To pursue their flights at dusk
(If only we could fly with them)
Apples falling from trees with soft, little thuds,
Reminding us of summer's end and of gravity
Migrating birds that eat the honeysuckle berries
While a monarch lights and spreads his wings
On the white phlox...

That's August up north