Booted feet stretched out on a wagon bed

High Summer

The peak of summer brings a pause,
A tipping point between the heat.
Work at hand and at arm’s length,
Preparing for the longer haul.

A slack tide on the calendar,
When time stands still while rushing by.
A moment between ebb and flow –
Catch your breath, catch your breath.

The sheep are fleshing out, and soon
We might be flensing out their hides.
These fragrant proto-rugs will journey
From the warmth of life to floors.

Hay in the barn is money in the bank,
Long green of the edible kind,
A safe, full of sweet calories.
Pastures will soon glow like perfect toast.

Rows of glass are marching
Toward the back of cupboards.
Multi-colored joy on the other end of seedtime –
Canned up sweet, canned up sweet.

Lingering light at night to work by,
Not as much as yesterday.
And soon enough the lantern light
Will show the way to stumble home.

When harvest comes the tide does turn,
The apples flood, the fishing ebbs,
The gardens soon are standing ranks
Of next year’s mulch a-mocking me.

In summer we inhale our growth,
Absorbing, curling, stretching, purring.
Then we turn to borrowed time –
Time to sleep, time to sleep.

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