Author's Note: Even though it’s freezing right now in Pennsylvania (the joke was that April 24 felt like January 79), I’m looking ahead to those glorious days of sunshine, and thought you might enjoy “This Summer Day.”
This Summer Day
That sprinkler is at it again, hissing and spitting its arc of silver, and the parched lawn is tickled green. The air hums with the busy traffic of butterflies and bees, who navigate without lane markers, stop signs, directional signals. One of my friends says we’re now in the shady side of the garden, having moved past pollination, fruition, and all that bee-buzzed jazz, into our autumn days. But I say wait. It’s still summer, and the breeze is full of sweetness spilled from a million petals; it wraps around your arms, lifts the hair from the back of your neck. The salvia, coreopsis, roses have set the borders on fire, and the peaches waiting to be picked are heavy with juice. We are still ripening into our bodies, still in the act of becoming. Rejoice in the day’s long sugar. Praise that big fat tomato of a sun.
Originally published in Small Rain (Purple Flag Press, 2014)
©2022 Barbara Crooker
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