Summer sighs, its long last breath,
hot and heavy, against my cheek,
bidding me farewell before the cold,
as August falls away to autumn.

Days of long, hot, steamy afternoons,
digging forts in sandpits during the peak of summer,
hunting grasshoppers as they fled from my cupped hands,
I ran like the banshee I was, growing up wild in the country.

Memories of days in shorts and undershirts,
my skin stained orange like the sand I played in,
I lived on Kool-aide and peanut butter sandwiches,
snacking on sweet red raspberries and currents that grew in our garden.

Cool nights playing twilight tag with my brothers;
the air turned crisp, always ending too soon,
mom hosing us down before we were allowed inside.
Washed clean and tucked in, welcomed sleep greeted us as our heads hit the pillow.

The local creek winks in the midday sun, beaconing us
to silently slip our barefoot feet into its cool.
We wait on the grey-brown crayfish to appear;
their bluish-gray pinchers raised, ready to do battle.

Carefully, we cup our fingers behind them,
along the clear water’s surface in wait,
as each scoot backward into our human nets,
clawing for release, we earn our battle wounds.

Midday comes too soon as we break out our bag lunches,
and we devour our peanut butter and jelly sandwiches.
We lie on the creek bank and close our eyes
as the August sun lulls us into a late summer bliss.

Misted jade mountains tower above,
surrounding me in a semicircle of tropical beauty.
On a warm white beach of my sandy bed, I found my Tahitian tan,
as the rhythmic waves sang their song, lulling me to sleep.

At night under the khaki green canvas of a rented tent, I hid,
its sides protecting me from dangers in the night;
palm sized spiders, alien insects, and falling coconuts…
I hold out for the safety of day of my cozy soft sand.

Thus, I found myself at a time fate sneered at me;
as I pitched a tent under the coconut palms;
with other travelers I happened upon while adventuring:
ivy league graduates, a burly pipeline worker, and me.

My memories are rich with the smells, sounds, and feel of the Pacific;
vignettes of lush blanketed mountains, wrapped in bright turquoise seas,
and me, barefoot in the surf, eating fresh coconut from a newly cut husks,
enjoying golden days in the sun.

Along the well-worn winding path,
we made our way between the burnt sienna of early sumac,
their fuzzy heads brushing against our arms,
as we basked in the rich ambiance of fall.

The smell of autumn in the air, clean and warm,
shadows long and drawn out, in September’s Mannerist style,
painted dark on the ochres and greens of the landscape,
we played our way home from our long days of school.

Rich days of golden sun on my back, long and lazy;
cicadas buzzing, grasshoppers guiding us along our way.
Memories transport me to this simpler time and place;
when my heart was still young and filled with newness of life.

My life is changing, transforming,
growing, without a whisper of notice.

No longer do I recognize myself,
for what I was yesterday has flown.

But regret is not within my heart,
for it becomes me, like the colors I wear.

For change is growth, and growth is life;
to live is change, the past is but a memory.

You whisper on the morning wind,
amid the silent majesty,
and in thin places that I find,
I still can sense your energy.

A place of solitude and peace,
beyond the realm of humankind,
where in the silence yet you speak,
above the din of all mankind.

These mystic places here on earth,
the veil between our worlds stretched thin,
where we can listen to your voice,
and feel your presence on the wind.