Summer’s Slow

Quiet hush at edge of dusk
grants this peace at summer’s start,
where every moment caught is kind,
and every player does his part.

They call out from the willow trees
in chirps and clicks of many songs,
or whistle sweet a kind refrain
between the poles of silence long.

Squirrels pick through morning’s seeds,
the cat along the creek bank prowls,
the dog stretched long in sweetest grass
sniffs and rolls and growls.

Two ducks in quiet jabber
peruse the stream’s girth and grass,
seems all about the town’s at rest
so peacefully let the moments pass.

I sit and let it go,
pleased to draw this kindness in,
commit to let this summer’s “slow”
roll me in its arms again.