I’m not dressed warm enough.
The morning dew is icy, the metal gate, cold on my hands
Yet the grass is still long and green
Unusual for early September.
The shorter days feel like a sad ending
But the chilled air is a welcome memory, the only nostalgia I can bear.
I’m standing on the back porch without expectation. I only know I need to be outside.
Small deep blue clouds fill the sky. The clouds closest to the moon are edged in moonlight.
The moon is a boat of hard light.
There is one red star (or is it a planet) on the horizon and higher, a sparkle here and there between the quick-moving clouds.
Now a flash of light in the southern sky. Lightening softened by distance.
Crickets and frogs hum steadily, a blanket infusing the air, caressing my bare skin.
On top of that, an owl singing the night.