There is a dampening of the senses now

The heat’s hefty weight, pulling liquid from my bones

The drip of a salty drop running down my spine

I’m clammy to the core

Laden down, waiting to evaporate.

I long for the cool brushes of an Autumn wind

For the gentle pummeling of leaves at my door

For my weary senses to dance in orange flame

To feel like I’m part of the game.

Not this. Not this. Not this.

There is nothing of me here

In scorched earth and dizzying mirage

But soon my friends I will hear the call

Of my kindred season

Wonderful Fall.


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