The honeyed scents of a summer’s eve

float towards a dying sun.

The dancing violet shadows on the canyon wall;

oft terrify our dog.

We sit  together on the  tiled patio

cold beneath our bare feet.

We listen to the ocean roar.

Soon fog and mist drive us closer

together inside our door.

We’ve done this on many summer’s eves;

just you and I and the old dog.

Sometimes we all nod off and

dream of  summers gone.