Enraptured in this summer’s slow
I walk the neighborhood’s quiet streets,
as all the subtle sights I know
stand poised where sun and dusk do meet.
The work day’s done, yet daylight clings,
but denies a shadow with dusk in sight,
holds time in quiet gratitude
and grants the gift of a summer’s night.
The air is still, the streets lay quiet,
my footsteps slow and measured,
sweet scent of lawns just cut and trimmed
enhance this moment’s treasure.
Children in the park fulfill
their dreams through baseball’s pastime,
while sprinklers on the schoolyard grounds
set the rhythm of this rhyme.
A dog’s bark echoes through this mix
of summer’s fullest ether,
as all these moments conspire to this,
a summer’s slow still sweeter.
As I walk the sidewalk cracks,
my memory carries me to summers past,
where at this moment Mom would call
and I’d run home to plead a last
few minutes time to run and play,
to feel the summer’s dusk roll in,
to laugh with friends until the night
had called us all to home again.
I recall my Uncle’s ancient house
on ancient narrow streets,
where it seemed all time stood still
at this summer’s slow stretched through the heat
and through the call of katydids
on streets named Maple, Elm and Oak –
with Dad and him on the steps I’d sit
while they drew it in through cigar smoke.
This summer’s slow brings gratitude
for days and years and life gone by,
and blesses quiet solitude
in a simple walk and opened eye –
so grants me gifts I can’t deny,
in a magic I give thanks for.