The Middling Time

Summer has 3 more weeks but she is starting to fade. I was inspired to write this poem after eating a mediocre peach and melon for lunch and then walking my dog Maya. The trees, shrubs and even the grasses seem to be tired from the heat.

THE MIDDLING TIME

Melons, blueberries and peaches,
A bruised, diluted version of July perfection.
Heat and moisture, the forces that coaxed them to their peak,
Force their retirement.

Flower beds, once a flashmob of color,
Now a scattering of protestors, brown heads hanging,
Resisting the change.

The trees sense the longer nights.
Their leaves hungry for chlorophyll.
Tired in their struggle and
Unaware their grand finale will be as stunning as their debut.

In this middling time, Mother Nature refills her palette.
And the pumpkin waits.