As the last summer rose scatters,
the warm autumn breeze
tastes of apple and blackberry pie,
bounty from the Great Mother
who has given Her body willingly.
Drunken bees cling
to over-ripe, succulent pears,
feasting as the gathering begins.
August
Wearing summer’s golden crown
the month of August arrives
like a struck match,
burning quickly as we enter
the dog days of summer.
Wild fires lay waste the land
as the scorching sun
burns the gasping fields.
July
Dressed in golden rays of light,
with Father Sun stamped,
firmly into the cloudless sky,
we enter the dust-covered,
burning cathedral of summer.
With windows wide open,
the shade becomes as much
of a joy as the scorching sun.
June
After June skips herself in
everything is much quieter
in the ancient woodlands,
save the trembling aspens
in their gowns of green.
Summer releases her spell
and each bright hour lingers
long past our evening walk.