clings to August not wanting
to move forward to October and shorter
afternoons with cooler breezes. Not having
long stays at beaches. Giving up

green for color, pumpkins, apples
and cider. The end of vacation brings forth
much frustration and discord. Everything
back to its original form of schools in. Buses

lining the streets. Where’s the hot dogs
and ice-cream? The back -yards barbeques? Bikinis
turn into jackets and sweaters. Lazy days of
flip-flops and long walks are almost over. Where’s the

bullfrog and the clover? It’s not easy being
sentimental, yearning for the unconventional. The
tomatoes have died from of early frost. The grass
looks like moss. The thought of winter makes one want
to cling to an early spring.